Away From You
by Lady Patriot
Summary: AU fic starting after Faith is shot. Bosco takes her literally when she tells him to go away and leaves the 55th Precinct.
1. Leaving

Bosco transfers out of the Five-Five and the NYPD after Faith gets shot.

None of the _Third Watch_ characters belong to me. If they did, I might not be a poor college student.

**

* * *

**

_He looked in at her, lying on the hospital bed with Fred standing beside her. They both looked back at him, Fred with an expression bordering on hatred, Faith merely expectant. He drew in a breath._

_"It worked. They bought it."_

_Fred's face lightened a little. Faith only nodded. "Good. Now go away."_

_The air in the hospital room tightened with tense pain. Bosco opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words that might begin to express his emotions. He nodded silently and turned to leave. Go away he would._

* * *

"Transfer? What in the hell for?"

"I can't stay here, Lieu. Not after what happened."

Swersky rubbed his temples. "I really don't need this, Bosco. With Yokas out and Cruz hanging by a string, I can't afford to lose another officer."

"I have to get away from all this. It's my fault she was in that hotel room."

"She'd want you to stay – "

"No! No, she doesn't want anything to do with me, Lieu. She blames me for this and she's right. I can't stay here." Bosco exclaimed, his features desperate. "Please, Lieu. I need this transfer."

The lieutenant sighed and knew that there was no talking Bosco out of his decision. It was done. "All right. What precinct are you looking to transfer to? The Seven-Two in Brooklyn isn't much different than this one."

"I don't want to go to another precinct. I want out, completely."

"Out of the _department_?"

Bosco nodded stiffly. "I can't be around the city anymore. It's too close to everything. It's got to be somewhere else."

"You do realise this is career suicide."

"I don't care."

"Have it your way. I know a guy in a department not far from here. He might have a spot for you in the patrol division. I'll call him and find out. You're sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely."

Swersky sighed again. He should have expected this would happen. "Go home, Bosco. I'll let you know when the paperwork needs to be signed."

"Thanks, Lieu. I owe you one."

"No you don't." Swersky muttered as Bosco exited the office.

* * *

The incoming night tour officers filled the locker room, their usual chatter going a long way to drown out his thoughts. He was an object of curiosity to them, as he cleaned out his locker. No one was quite sure what to make of this strange new situation, but Bosco was sure that the rumours would fill in the gaps soon enough. Nobody needed to know why he was leaving. It was none of their business.

"Cuttin' out on us, Boscorelli?"

Bosco ignored the question, folding his uniform as neatly as he could and setting it aside. The other cops shook their heads and went about the business of getting ready for their shift. They knew enough to hold their silence.

"You all right, Bosco?"

"Yeah."

Sully didn't look convinced. "What precinct are you moving to?"

"I'm not."

"Not leaving? So this is just spring cleaning?"

"I'm not going to another precinct, Sully." Bosco answered, too weary to be irritable.

"You're quitting?"

"Something like that."

The disbelieving expression on Sully's face seemed to transmit itself to everyone still in the room. Bosco could feel the shock in the air. Nobody had expected that. He zipped up his duffel bag, slung the strap over his shoulder, and picked up the stack of folded uniforms. He had already turned in his gun, badge, and duty belt. The silence persisted behind him as he walked out. Nobody needed to know his reasons.

Lieutenant Swersky waited behind the desk, his face pinched with regretful understanding. "Captain Driscoll will be waiting at the headquarters building for you tomorrow morning."

"Thanks again, Lieu."

"Good luck, Bosco."

Bosco said nothing as he turned toward the front doors. His departure said it all.

* * *

The large police department headquarters building held him in awe from where he stood across the street. Rows of cruisers were neatly lined up in a parking lot next to the building, and blue-uniformed cops of various ranks moved about like determined ants. Bosco looked up at the gleaming windows overlooking the parking lot and street, wondering how different working here would be from New York.

He jogged across the street, expecting but not hearing the blaring horns of short-tempered motorists. This would be a definite culture shock. A man in a sharply creased uniform saw him reach the sidewalk and lifted a hand into the air. Bosco headed his way.

"You must be Mr Boscorelli. Captain Driscoll."

"Yes sir."

Driscoll smiled and offered his hand. "Welcome to Boston."


	2. First Day

I don't know how Boston handles its radio traffic or how its dispatch centre works, so I'm sticking with the NYPD format with a lot less formality. Sort of a mix of the NYPD and the PRCC (Penobscot Regional Dispatch). It's a compromise between strict radio discipline and loose chatter. You'll see what I mean.

Bosco's first day in a Boston uniform is full of surprises, both welcome and not.

* * *

"You're late, rookie." Somebody called over the noisy chatter of the crowded locker room. The men and women paused in their preparations to look curiously at him as he stood in the doorway, not sure which locker was his. 

"Sergeant don't like late-comers."

"Takes 'em out back for a chat, he does."

They all laughed and Bosco forced a grin. This would be definitely interesting. He picked his way through the crush of bodies and lockers, searching for the one labelled 'S. Travis'. He was supposed to take that nametag off and replace it with his own. The desk sergeant had given him a uniform to get him through this shift, gruffly telling him to get the other two or three from the headquarters building before the next shift, which started at four tomorrow. Great. He was back to rookie's hours.

"What d'you think you're doin'?" A heavily-accented voice asked and Bosco looked up to see a burly cop glaring at him.

"Looking for my locker." Bosco answered, reaching for the wire mesh door.

The big cop slammed his hand against the locker, causing Bosco to jump. All conversation stopped as the other cops gathered to watch and quietly place bets. "This is Sean's locker."

"That's nice. Can I get ready for shift?"

"No."

Bosco felt his neck grow warm under the collar of his jacket. "Look, pal, I don't know who this Sean guy is, and I don't really care. I just want to get ready for work."

The watching crowd sucked in a collective breath and several cops tensed. Bosco got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe this wasn't the best way to start off his first tour. The bigger man leaned down and grabbed a fistful of Bosco's shirt.

"Sean Travis was one of my best mates. No mealy-mouthed rookie is gonna disrespect him around me. Got it?"

"Yeah." God, this guy needed a breath mint. He reeked of cheap beer.

"You better. Now find another locker."

Bosco reached out for the locker bank to keep on his feet when the bigger man let him go with a little shove. A little shove strong enough to almost knock him over, anyway. Quiet murmuring broke out among the spectators and money began exchanging hands. Startled and unnerved by the confrontation, Bosco looked around the locker banks until he spotted an empty locker in the far corner. There was no name on this one, thankfully. He wasn't in a hurry for another incident.

"Hurry up, me boyos, we gotta run."

The other cops filed out of the room, leaving Bosco alone to change. Great, just great. This was going to be such a fun shift. He already missed New York and the easy banter of the Five-Five.

"Hey rookie."

Now what? "What?"

"Don't mind Red. He's touchy with everyone."

Bosco slipped his arms into the uniform shirt. "He definitely has a problem with me, though."

"No, that's his normal reaction to anyone who gets assigned to Sean's locker."

"Really."

"Yeah." The other cop leaned against the locker bank. "Hurry up, you're gonna be late for roll call."

"Right." Bosco said, tightening his new duty belt. The stiff leather creaked as he forced it through the buckle. All his gear was new, even the gun. His uniform itched in all the wrong places, his boots were still rigid at the heels and toes, and his sidearm holster hadn't been broken in. It hugged the gun tightly, making him worried that he wouldn't be able to draw it if he needed to. Even the Kevlar vest felt stiff and uncomfortable. He wished he had his old uniform and equipment. They fit him so much better.

"Come on, we've got thirty seconds."

"Yeah, I'm done," he answered, shutting the locker. He stuck the nametag on the door before turning to follow the other cop. This place sucked.

* * *

A concerted boo greeted him as he entered the briefing room. The scrawny sergeant standing at the podium shot him an irritated glare, but waited for him to find a seat at the back of the room before speaking. 

"All right, we're all here now. We've got a new face here, as I'm sure you're already aware."

"You mean that sour-faced kid from out-of-town?"

The sergeant looked slightly amused at the brief outbreak of chuckles. "Straight from the NYPD, as it happens. Probationary Officer Maurice Boscorelli." He pronounced it 'Bow-scar-elli.'

Bosco wanted to crawl into a hole and die as the other cops turned in their chairs to stare at him. The humour was gone from their faces, replaced by suspicion and distrust. He fought the urge to sink lower in the chair under the weight of the evaluative stares from the nine or ten cops.

"All right, that's done. Eyes front!" The lieutenant barked, drawing attention back his way. "Bit of a change in the pairings tonight. Deschaine, you're riding with the new guy in Six Adam. O'Keefe, you're with McCann in Six David. Everyone else is the same. Kinley and Flaherty, Crocker and Hogan, Fox and Thompson in Boy, Charlie, and Edward. Sweeney, you're on foot post again."

"Watch out for folks comin' back from the Sox game. The Mounted Unit's gonna be out tonight too. Try not to get in their way if they're movin' fast."

"Any questions?"

"Yeah, who won?"

"They were playin' the Yankees." The sergeant made a face. "Who d'you think, Crocker?"

Everyone booed and groaned and Bosco was hard-pressed to keep his cheer to himself. It certainly wouldn't be a good idea to blurt out his preference for New York sports teams in the middle of a Boston police station.

"Okay, that's it. Take it easy out there."

Movement took over the room as the officers stood up and collected their flashlights and nightsticks from under their chairs. Bosco started to get to his feet, but the big cop who'd gotten on his case in the locker room pushed him back down. A short, harsh chuckle passed through the man's lips as he headed for the door. Bosco glared at his back and heaved himself out of the chair.

"Way to make friends."

"I didn't start it, but I sure can finish it," he snarled.

"I wouldn't, if I were you. Red's no pushover."

"Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Your new partner. Sarah Deschaine."

Bosco wanted to kick himself. He was really endearing himself to these people. "Maurice Boscorelli."

"I figured Crawford got it wrong. You looked like you wanted to disappear."

"Pretty much. So what happens now?"

Deschaine pulled a pen out of her shirt pocket and headed across the station house floor. "Sign out our radios and get our cruiser. We just got a couple new ones from Detroit, so they should be pretty well decked out."

Wonderful. More new stuff. "And then?"

"We do whatever. Not a whole lot happens after midnight, at least until the bars close at one or two. Then it's usually a bunch of calls to break up fights."

"Easy work, then."

"I guess." Deschaine scribbled her name and badge number on the paper that the sergeant held out. Bosco followed suit and waited for a radio and shoulder mike to be handed to him. The sergeant frowned at the paper.

"Fill this out again, Boscorelli."

"What?"

"Fill it out again. The information is wrong."

Bosco looked down the list of names and numbers until he got to his own. It was right. He'd written 'Boscorelli, 3379.' Oh, damn, that wasn't right. That was his old badge number. Dammit, dammit, dammit. What was his new one? He had no idea. He'd never bothered to look.

"2532." Deschaine told him. "That's what your number is."

"Thanks," he muttered, his cheeks flushing brightly. The latest in a series of mistakes and he hadn't even made it to the street yet. _Oh man, I just want to go home._

"Come on, Boscorelli. Everyone else is already out there."

He followed his new partner without reply. It was going to be a long shift, he knew it. Deschaine led the way out to a cramped but well-lit vehicle bay. Mechanic's tools were everywhere. A cruiser that had half its front end smashed in was sitting in one of the three lanes. Bosco wondered what in the hell hit the car to make the windshield fold in half like that. Another, apparently undamaged cruiser occupied the second space. Aside from a slight dent in the driver's door, nothing seemed to be wrong with it.

"Morning, Tom." Deschaine said and Bosco looked at her like she was crazy. There was nobody else in the bay.

"Ha! Mornin' in-bloody-deed!" A gruff voice barked. There was the sound of wheels scraping along the concrete floor and an oil-stained rag went airborne out of the space between the two parked cruisers. "Those damned day blokes gotta learn that these cars ain't supposed to leave the ground." An equally oil-stained man appeared, wiping his hands on the clean towel Deschaine tossed to him.

"Flanagan and Knight again?"

"'Course! Out there bloody joy-ridin', I bet. They oughta be in here fixin' the oil pan they lost. Ripped the whole damn thing off, the bastards. I been in here all day puttin' new bolts on the mounting frame just so's a new pan'd fit."

Deschaine hid a smile. "I'll be sure to let Bennett know that his boys are being stupid on the roads again."

"Bennett, ha! He's as bad as the rest of 'em."

"Have a good night, Tom. Try to go home before I sign out tonight."

"Good bloody luck on that," the mechanic grumbled, disappearing back under the cruiser with a wrench. Bosco blinked. This guy was great! Somebody else besides himself had an attitude. It was almost like home.

"You want to drive?"

"What?"

Deschaine held up a set of keys. "You wanna drive?"

"Oh, no. I'd get lost just getting on the street." Bosco said, staring at the vehicle parked outside the garage. The blue and white paint fairly sparkled under the fluorescent streetlights. There wasn't so much as a scratch on the car anywhere. It was beautiful!

"Hey, earth to Boscorelli. Are the lights working?"

He blinked and realised that the blue and white lights on the lightbar were flashing. "Yeah, looks good."

"What about these?" Deschaine ducked back into the cruiser and flicked a switch. Blinding white light burst to life from the front of the lightbar and he shielded his eyes. "I guess they work too. Good."

"What the hell was that?" Bosco demanded, trying to blink the dancing white spots out of his vision.

"Takedown lights. They're great for traffic stops. C'mon, everything checks out. Let's roll."

* * *

"Why'd you leave New York?" 

Bosco stared out the window at the buildings, not answering. He had expected the questions to start at some point during the shift and was determined to deflect or ignore them. Nobody needed to know why he'd quit. There was a low enough opinion of him already. It was none of their business why he had left. If they knew, they would start asking more questions, possibly talk to people they knew in New York.

"You in there?"

"Yeah."

"Ah. Bad blood back there, huh?"

"I needed a change of pace," he lied. It was frightening how easily the mistruth rolled off his tongue. He had been getting good at that, due no doubt to spending so much time with that bitch Cruz.

"Really? Must be some kind of war zone, then." Deschaine said. "My brother's got a couple weeks left in the Academy down there. He wants to work outta some district in Upper Manhattan. I can't remember which one. It was something Five, I think."

Bosco stiffened, an odd feeling coming over him. He would have bet money that he knew which precinct she was talking about. That wasn't welcome news at all. Siblings talked, and if her brother wound up at the Five-Five, she'd know what had driven Bosco from the city.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Uh-huh. Somethin' bad happened back there. What'd you do, anyway? Sleep with the boss's daughter or something?"

A smile almost blossomed. The captain's daughter came readily to mind, with Sergeant Christopher's fiancée right behind. Piikarainen had been apoplectic when he'd found out and Bosco had ended up on desk duty for a month. He was lucky to have gotten off so lightly. The one-night stand had almost earned him a one-way ticket to rough and rowdy Brooklyn.

"I knew it! Guys like you just can't keep yourselves in your own pants. You're always trying to get into somebody _else's_ pants." Deschaine slapped the steering wheel with one hand and laughed.

"That's not – " Bosco began, but found himself laughing with her. She wasn't half bad, he decided. Maybe not especially beautiful, but she had a quick, sharp wit, a pretty smile, and a nice set of curves. For a quick, fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to kiss the mouth that created such an easy smile. Then he mentally shook himself and remembered that it was his first day on The Job here. It would classic Boscorelli to ruin his fledging career in Boston by hitting on his new partner not even an hour into the shift.

"How long are we gonna be riding together?" He asked, trying to get his thoughts back on track.

Deschaine shrugged. "I dunno. Depends on how well these first two or three weeks go. It's up to Lieu after that, but if he thinks that we get along okay, he'll probably keep us together."

He would definitely do his best to make sure they got along. "Okay. So what do we do out here, anyway? Aside from just driving around, I mean."

"Well, it's almost one. We should probably start heading toward Tremont Street. There's a few bars down there that will be closing soon."

"Sounds like fun."

The radio mounted between the seats came to life, screeching out the dots and dashes of some kind of alert tone. A high-voiced dispatcher started speaking as the noise faded from the air waves. "Adam Six-One, Adam Six-One, please respond to 1524 East Springfield Street for a cardiac arrest. Caller indicates that the patient is an elderly male, age unknown at this time. Boston Med Com out, 0047." The alert tones took over the radio again.

"Adam Six-One responding. 1524 East Springfield, ETA four minutes."

"There goes another one," Deschaine muttered, turning the radio down a bit. "By the time they get there the poor guy will already be dead."

"Are we any closer?"

"Nope. It'll take us at least six minutes to get there. We're on West 4th right now. It won't do any good." She replied. "Six-One's Devon Hodge and Ken Rice. Couple of real aces right there. They were probably catching a nap under the Expressway bridge."

_Sounds like somethin' me and Yokas would've been doing._ Another fleeting moment of wonder flickered across his mind. How was she doing? Was she out of the hospital yet? Bosco angrily drove those thoughts away. What did he care? She wanted to wash her hands of him, so it shouldn't matter to him how she was doing. _And yet it does._

Deschaine swore viciously, startling him completely from his momentary lapse of concentration. The cruiser bucked eagerly as she applied weight on the gas pedal. Bosco reached hurriedly for his seat belt to keep himself securely in the middle of the seat. The abrupt change in speed had caught him off-guard and he'd smacked the back of his head against the headrest.

"What the hell – !"

"Six Adam, Boston. Picking up the disturbance, Tremont and Pembroke. Any particulars?"

"Not at this time, Adam. Do you need additional units to respond?"

"We'll let you know." Deschaine tossed the mike aside and reached down for the light and siren control box. "You better start payin' more attention to the radio, Boscorelli. Passengers pick up the reports."

_Damn!_ "Uh, right."

"You ready for your first real brawl? I don't know how rowdy you New Yorkers get when you're drunk, but you haven't lived until you've had to break up a Boston bar fight."

Bosco pulled his nightstick into his lap. "Right."

"There they all are."

The cruiser rapidly bore down on the crowd that spilled into the middle of the street. Bosco had been through his share of bar fights, but this one seemed particularly nasty. Pieces of bar stools were flashing wildly in the air amidst the flying fists. As the cruiser approached, he could have sworn he saw somebody laugh and hug the person he had just punched in the face.

Deschaine flicked the siren on 'Whelp' as she stomped on the brake to keep from ploughing the vehicle into the roiling mass of bodies. Some people broke off and ran, but most kept swinging. "Figures. C'mon, you get to break this up."

_"What?"_

"It's the tradition. Rookies take point on their first brawl. Have at it."

Bosco got out of the cruiser with a snort of disgust. She followed him, taking care to hang back a couple of steps. _Come on, Mo, this is a cake-walk. How many times have you done this before?_ "Hey! All of you! Break it up!" A flying table leg nearly caught him in the temple, but he managed to duck just in time. "Break it up!"

"Boscorelli!" Deschaine yelled as he took a swing with his nightstick. His first and only blow took one of the brawlers to the ground. A companion table leg in the hands of a blindly swinging man connected solidly with the side of Bosco's head. In the last snatch of conscious reality he had before hitting the ground, he saw was the back of some guy's dark blue T-shirt. 'See You Later!'

Much later, he thought.

* * *

"…eyes tracking slowly, steady pulse. BP holding. Looks like he's coming around." 

"Give him another shot of the tab."

A powerful odour attacked his nostrils and he wanted to sneeze. Hard. He pushed away the hand that held that horrid smell under his nose, cracking his eyes open. The harsh glare of somebody's flashlight in his face felt like it pierced all the way to his brain. He held up both hands in front of his eyes to block out the light and wrinkled his nose to get rid of the lingering odour of whatever it was that had been waved at him.

"Where the hell am I?"

"In the middle of Tremont Street."

"Welcome back, Officer. You've been out for almost fifteen minutes."

_That long? I wasn't hit _that _hard._ "Where're all the brawlers?"

"Long gone. They dispersed after you went down." Deschaine replied. "Not a bad job you did. We should work on your finesse, though."

"Really." Bosco sat up and rubbed the side of his head. His brain throbbed a bit but he was surprised to discover that he wasn't dizzy or groggy.

"You think he's fit to get back to it?"

"He looks okay. I'd say he's got a rock for a skull. I've seen others with cracks an inch wide after a whack like you say he took." The paramedic answered, zipping up his bag. "As long as he doesn't try for a repeat performance, he should be okay."

"Great. Thanks, Joel."

"Take it easy, Deschaine. See you later."

Deschaine rocked back on her heels and stood up, then offered her hand to Bosco. "There, now you're officially broken in."

"Thanks, I think," Bosco said as he used her hand to help pull himself to his feet.

"Don't sweat it. Happens to the best of us. Now hurry up, Sergeant Crawford's due to come around soon. I don't want to be caught standin' still."

Bosco rolled his eyes and got back into the cruiser. At least it was getting better.


	3. Surprises

Short chapter. Faith finds out that Bosco left the Five-Five and Bosco's new partner has a surprise for him.

* * *

"How're you doin' Faith?"

"I can't feel my legs or my stomach. How do you think I'm doing?"

The hesitant smile slid off Sully's face. "Is this a bad time? Me and Davis just wanted to stop by to see how you were feeling."

"Didn't mean to bother you," Davis added from his place half a step behind his partner. "We can go if you want."

"No, please don't. I'm just – it's been a rough time." The irritated expression faded off her tired face. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. We understand."

"So, um, what's new around the house?" Faith asked after a brief, awkward pause.

"Not much, really. Cruz is right back up to her old tricks, more or less. Her and her new front man." Sully answered. "I'm surprised that IAB let her off so lightly."

"What, Bosco hasn't run straight back to her? They were quite a pair."

"No, I think he's gotten smart about her."

"Really. Took him long enough."

"Hey, go easy on the poor guy. He's taken this whole thing pretty hard."

Faith's face tightened. "Oh yeah? He should. If he hadn't come to me, begging for help, I wouldn't be here right now. He needs to feel bad about this. It's as much his fault as that bitch Cruz's."

"Faith, come on. That's not fair to either of you."

"Not fair? I'll tell you what's not fair, Sully. What's not fair is the fact that I'm stuck here in this damn bed and he's out there on the street like nothing ever happened."

Sully bit his lip and shot an uneasy glance at Davis. Neither man dared to speak for fear of letting the news slip out. _She doesn't know he's gone. Good God, how do we tell her?_ She picked up on their uncomfortable silence and narrowed her eyes.

"What aren't you telling me? He hasn't been talking crap, has he?"

"We don't know. He hasn't been around the house in a couple of days."

She looked confused. "Not been around? So where's he been?"

Davis shrugged helplessly. "We don't know. I guess he took a vacation."

"Vacation. I might've figured. Cocky bastard, isn't he?"

"Stop it, Faith. He's blaming himself for this whole thing."

"He should! I wouldn't be here if he hadn't dragged me into this!"

Sully frowned for the first time since entering the room and said, "Faith, he went to you for help because you're the only one he really trusts. You're his best friend. Hell, maybe even his _only_ friend. Anybody with two eyes and half a brain can see that. He asked you because he knew that you'd help him."

"I was a fool," she said sharply. "All I've ever been is a fool. I should have just let him dangle. It was his own mess and he dragged me right down with him. He deserves whatever punishment is due him."

There was no use arguing and both cops knew it. Sully looked down at the dozen flowers in his hand, heaving a sigh of defeat. "Fine. We gotta go. C'mon, Ty." Halfway out the door, he paused to look back over his shoulder. "You should know that he's gone. That's why he hasn't been around the house. He cleaned out his locker and left. He's gone for good, just like he said you wanted." He looked at the flowers again and tossed them into the garbage can in disgust. "Sorry for wastin' your time."

* * *

His head throbbed mercilessly when he tried to move. The light shining through the uncovered windows certainly didn't help. It felt like somebody was indiscriminately slamming a hammer around the inside of his skull. Must be the blow to the head from last night. Last night. Crap! His shift started at four. He forced himself to roll over toward the clock on the nightstand. It read one-fifty. A slight relief, anyway. At least he had a little bit of time to pop some aspirin or something to make the headache go away. He had to go to the headquarters to get his other uniforms too. Great.

Bosco rolled back onto his stomach and covered his head with the pillow. He hated this place and everything about it. The people sucked, the work sucked, the city sucked. All he wanted to do was go home, but he knew that home wasn't really home anymore. He'd set fire to that bridge long before Faith had told him to go away and so he had, just in time to watch his only real friendship go down in flames. It was his fault, completely his fault. He should never have asked her bail him out of the jam he'd so stupidly gotten himself into. She would never have been in that hotel room if he hadn't begged her to go there. And she'd agreed, because that's what she always did. _Dammit, Faith, why, for once, couldn't you have told me to solve my own problems? Why couldn't you have just said no?_

He thought of the loathing on Fred's face when he stood in the doorway of her hospital room. The other man's hate was perfectly justified. Bosco hated himself for doing that to his partner, for putting her in that position in the first place. It was all his, every bit of guilt, despair, sorrow, anger. Every last, lingering emotion belonged solely to him and he would ask for nothing less. He needed to feel all the pain of this because he deserved it. Everyone in the precinct knew that Faith never should have been in the hotel room and everyone in the precinct knew why she had been. They damn sure knew who to blame for it, and he'd certainly not done a thing to convince anyone otherwise. _"It was me, Lieu. It was all me."_ The first meaningful truth he'd uttered in God knows how long and the anger and hurt on Swersky's face made it sink in that much more. He was done with the constant lying and under-the-table justice. It was over. The price of working with Cruz was simply far too great. It was over, he was done. Done with all of that crap. Over, gone, no more. No more, for ever.

So what now? A new future with this Boston department until he screwed up here too? Where would he go then, when he had to leave this place for another, temporary safe haven? He'd started down a dark and winding road when he threw in with Cruz and he had no idea how to get back to the way he knew things should be. _Lost without a trace, that's me. God dammit, Faith, I wish you were still around. I need help._ Ha! That was a sick joke, wasn't it? She was gone, as lost to him as possible. Everything and everyone he knew was gone. He had turned his back on the world as he'd known it, so it was up to him to figure out his life. By himself. There was no one else now, and he knew he couldn't afford to let anyone get close again. He couldn't stand another Faith.

Sudden anger swept through him and he sat up abruptly, heaving the pillow across the room. This, this was pathetic. She was constantly on his mind, the memory of her dancing mockingly around his head despite his best efforts to push it to the farthest, darkest corner of his brain. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. She never knew how important she was to him, or how much he truly trusted her. How much he missed her. Oh hell, she was his best friend and she always would be. No matter what she said or did to piss him off, there would always be a special space reserved for her in his heart.

A firm rap on the door jerked his attention out of the reverie. Who in the hell would bother coming to see him here? Bosco wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and looked around for a shirt. The knock came again as he tugged an old T-shirt over his head. "I'm comin'!"

"Did I wake you up?"

Bosco's eyebrows went up in surprise at the sight of his new partner standing in the hall. "What are you doing here?"

"I came by to see if you were interested in getting lunch. We don't get a meal-break until eight tonight."

"We're working together tonight?" He asked.

"Yeah. It's part of the whole training officer thing. Whatever shift you get stuck on, I get stuck on." Deschaine replied. "C'mon, get dressed. You still gotta get your other uniforms from downtown."

"Sorry, this is a little surprising. I don't usually see my new partner outside my door unless there's something wrong."

"Things are done differently here, Boscorelli. Hurry up, I left the truck running."

"I'll be right down."

Deschaine grinned. "And lose the shirt. It's a beacon for trouble."

"What?" Bosco looked down at the shirt he was wearing and realised it said NYPD in big blue letters. "Yeah, right. Thanks."

* * *

Bosco pushed the French fry through the pool of ketchup on his plate and did his best to keep his eyes from wandering south. His initial impressions of her from the night before were being proven wrong. He still didn't think she was especially beautiful, but there was a definite charm in her face. Somehow, he sensed that his new partner was something special. More than the girls from back home. He'd only been in Boston a couple of days now, but he got the feeling that, if Sarah Deschaine was any indication, the women here weren't quite so flighty or shallow. That wasn't to say they weren't, but maybe not as bad.

"Are you listening?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you had ever been outside of New York before now."

"Oh, yeah, a couple of times."

Deschaine poked at the ice cubes in her nearly empty glass of Pepsi. "Never been to Vermont or New Hampshire, though, right?"

"No. Too far north."

"Well, you'll get a chance to go this winter. A couple of guys from the day shift are planning a ski trip to the White Mountains. You should think about going. Dan Flaherty, Ben Crocker, and I are goin' along. It was a blast last year."

"Maybe. I don't really like snow."

She giggled lightly and reached across table to pat his hand. "Don't worry a bit. Once you get up there, you'll think differently."

"I doubt it."

"Oh come on. You'll never know if you don't try."

"I'll think about it," he said and tried to think of something he could change the subject to. "How long have you been on The Job?"

"Five years. Did some time with Metro Transit before making the jump to regular patrol. I like this better."

"I've been in patrol for ever. I can't see myself doing anything else."

The plump waitress appeared to replace their empty glasses with fresh ones and asked if either of them cared for dessert. Bosco wasn't still hungry, for once, but Deschaine ordered a slice of apple pie. He looked down at the crumbs on her plate, all that were left of the thick burger and plentiful helping of fries. _And I thought I was a good eater._ There were still a bunch of fries left on his own plate. Man, whoever was running the kitchen knew how to make a good burger.

"You're not hungry?"

"I couldn't have anymore if I tried," he replied, sitting back in the booth.

"That's what I figured. I know the cook. He's a real pro." Deschaine told him, digging her fork into the wedge of pie in front of her. "I work the four-to-twelve, usually, so I come in here a lot. Most of the shift does."

"I can see why."

"Hey, there she is!"

Deschaine's face lit up and she slid out of the booth to hug the stocky man in the grease-splattered apron. "Afternoon, Dad. I missed you yesterday."

"I took the day off. Still wearin' the blue suit, I take it?"

"Of course I am." She answered, smiling.

"Who's this? New boyfriend?"

Bosco's cheeks flamed red-hot. It certainly looked that way, didn't it? Deschaine came to his rescue with an amused laugh.

"No, Dad. He's my new partner."

"Maurice Boscorelli," Bosco said, standing up to offer his hand to the other man. He suppressed a wince when Deschaine's father returned the gesture with a crushing grip. "Arthur Deschaine. He's not that bad-looking, y'know."

"Dad!"

"I'm only making an observation. You gotta start lookin' some time."

"I will, don't worry. We should get going. See you later tonight for dinner." Deschaine stood on tip-toe to kiss her father's cheek before collecting her jacket from the booth.

"What's the bill come out to?" Bosco asked, his wallet halfway out of his pocket.

"No bill, son. You eat free if my Sarah's with you."

"Um, okay." That didn't really surprise him, but it added even more awkwardness to the situation. He picked up his jacket in an effort to cover up his discomfort. This had to be the first time he'd ever been introduced to a girl's father without so much as a first date. As if adjusting to this city wasn't tough enough, she had to throw something like this at him.

"Tell Mum I said hello when she comes in."

"Will do. Take care out there."

Bosco wasted no time following her out the door. He was glad to reach the sidewalk. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Deschaine asked, fitting a Red Sox beanie over her head.

"Embarrass me like that. I've only known you for, what, twelve hours? You're already introducing me to your father and we're not even dating!"

She didn't look terribly hurt as she shrugged. "So?"

"So? So don't act like we are! I don't know a damn thing about you."

"Sure you do. You know that I've been a cop for five years, I work the four-to-twelve, my folks own that restaurant there, and my brother's in the New York Police Academy."

"I haven't been in this city for more than three days. I can't handle any kind of outside-of-work relationship yet. I just can't."

"Okay."

His face registered complete disbelief. "That's it? Okay?"

"Yeah." She unlocked the door of her truck. "What do you think I should say? I know when to back off, Boscorelli. Don't worry about it."

"Right. Okay."

"Okay. Are you coming or not? I've got to go down to the main station anyway."

"Yeah, I guess." Bosco hesitated for a moment before crossing around to the other side of the vehicle and getting in. This was way too weird, but somehow he found it intriguing. He wasn't used to being moved on first. A slow grin crawled onto his face. It was definitely weird. A good kind of weird.

_Maybe coming here wasn't such a bad idea after all._

* * *

He was gone.

Sully's parting remark sliced effortlessly through the façade of anger she had managed to construct. He left the precinct because she had told him to. In all her wildest dreams, she never would have imagined that he would take her so literally. She wished she could take those emotionless words back now. It wasn't right for her to have taken out her fear and anger on her partner, but she'd done it and he listened to her, just like he always did. Faith closed her eyes to block out the sight of the hurt on his face when she told him to go away. It had seemed right at the moment, but not anymore. She'd never have thought he would actually take her words this far.

Dammit. He'd left because of her. As if she didn't have enough to contend with, here was one more thing to heap onto the already overwhelming burden. Thanks, Bosco, I really appreciate the consideration. Oh who was she kidding? If anyone was to blame, it was her. She had been the one to say it, not him. And, as usual, she was the one with the weight of guilt. For not recanting, for not helping him sooner, for a lot of things she couldn't even begin to name. What did any of that matter, anyway? Her partner had left the precinct because she had told him to. That was about as simple as it could get. For once, she couldn't palm off the blame onto anyone but herself. It was a relief, in a twisted sort of way. She felt a bitter smile creep onto her face. It had to take her partner's transfer to get her to accept responsibility for her own foolishness.

"Awake again?"

She looked toward the door to see Fred entering with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. "Yeah."

"What did Sully and Davis want?"

"They just wanted to see how I was doing," she answered, knowing that Sully's unexpected declaration should be kept to herself. Fred hated even the slightest mention of Bosco. He would be pleased to no end to hear that Bos had transferred.

"Then what are these doing in the trash?" Fred pulled a bunch of flowers out of the trashcan by the door. The flowers that Sully had brought, but thrown away in resigned disgust at her seeming lack of caring.

"I don't, I don't know."

"Faith. The card's signed by half the cops from the precinct."

"Card?"

"Yeah." He pulled the card free of the flower stems and handed it to her.

Faith cautiously opened the folded piece of thick paper, not really wanting to see what she knew she was going to. Everyone at the house would know about Bosco by now and several people had written of it. She noted that those who had were on their tour. Those brief remarks were apologetic, which she appreciated. But they made it sound like he was dead. 'Sorry about Bosco, it's a shame.'

"I'll have to thank them for this," she said, laying the card, face down, on the bed.

Fred nodded. "Yeah." His expression became curious. "Why'd they say it's a shame about Bosco? Did he jump off a roof or something?"

Sure, now you act concerned. "No. Nothing like that." She said, then heaved a sigh. Might as well tell him. "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Transferred out of the precinct. I don't know where he went, but he left the Five-Five. For good, just like he said I wanted."

"Wow. I – wow." Fred's face registered complete disbelief. As much as he detested Bosco, even he had some tiny shred of compassion for her partner now.

She looked down at her hands, which had balled tightly into fists. "Yeah. Wow."


	4. The Start of a Long Road

Bosco and Deschaine respond to a disturbance.

* * *

"Ready for dinner?"

Bosco looked at his partner with an odd expression on his face. "It's only seven-thirty."

"So? I'm hungry."

"After what you had for lunch? I won't be hungry again until after midnight."

"You don't have to eat anything." Deschaine told him. "But fine. We can wait another half an hour or so."

"Good." He sat back and watched the passing traffic through the windshield. After a lengthy silence he asked, "Do you ever get tired of the monotony?"

"Monotony?"

"Yeah. There's next to nothing to do in this city. The shifts are quiet and there aren't any places to go afterwards. What do you do to keep from going crazy?"

"Bar-hop, shoot pool, play cards with the guys on Saturday nights. I go watch the Sox play every time they're at home and sometimes if they're playing in New York. I get season tickets every year. They're tough to get but I manage."

Bosco rolled his eyes. "Red Sox. Of course."

"You got a problem with the Sox?"

"Yeah, they suck."

She smacked him in the shoulder. "They do _not_ suck! They just get unlucky."

"Every season?"

"Hey, Mr Yankees fan, not even New York has great seasons all the time."

"They can still kick Red Sox ass any day."

"Right. Okay." Deschaine said. "Oh, look. It's Rabbit."

"What?"

"Rabbit. He's a frequent rider behind my cage. Odd, he looks sober for once."

"What are you doing?" Bosco asked, following his partner out of the cruiser. "Come on, we got better things to do."

Deschaine smiled as she approached the man in the tattered jacket. "'Sup, Rabbit? Haven't seen you around in a while."

To Bosco's surprise, Rabbit grinned back and stuck out his hand. "Yup. How you been?"

"Not bad. Surviving. How's life been treatin' you? You don't look too bad off."

"Twelve-step programme," Rabbit said, proudly holding up a wooden coin he'd dug out of his pocket. "I'm half-way through it."

"Good for you. I'm glad."

"Who's the kid?"

Colour rushed to Bosco's face. He wasn't a kid-cop anymore. "Um – "

"Him? New partner. He transferred from out of town. Maurice Boscorelli, meet Rabbit."

"How ya doin'." Rabbit said, offering his hand. Bosco gave a tight smile as he returned the man's surprisingly firm grip. "One of them Eye-talians, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Bosco replied uncertainly.

"Good people, wizards in the kitchen." The man nodded approvingly.

"Listen, we gotta get going. It was nice seein' you."

"Either you want a coffee? It's on me."

Deschaine's eyebrows went up. "You got money?"

"Yup. I've been holdin' down a job on the docks for almost a month. Got paid yesterday."

"You have got in under control. No, we're all set. You earned that paycheck."

"Okay. See you around, then."

"Good luck!" Deschaine called as Rabbit walked off down the sidewalk. He turned back a moment to lift a hand and then he was on his way again.

Bosco couldn't resist a grin. You certainly didn't see that every day. "How long have you known him?"

"Three years, off and on, when he wasn't in jail. We've been working with him for ever to get him out of the bottle. Looks like it's finally paying off."

"I don't think I've ever seen a guy actually finish one of those twelve-steps," he commented as he settled back into the cruiser. "Most of the time they end up right back in the game."

"That could be because you don't step in to help them stay with it. We've helped Rabbit use the system to get help. It requires a lot of effort and dedication, which is probably why you've never tried it yourself."

"Hey, I'm not – " he began, then checked himself. She had him figured out, even if she didn't know how he handled The Job back in New York.

"I've seen guys like you come in and fall hard because they're not willing to put in an extra couple of hours to help out a drunk like Rabbit. It's how we play the game here and you best start learnin' the rules if you want to stay here."

He remained silent and considered what she'd said. This was an entirely new system of operation. She was dead on; if he wanted to stay in Boston longer than a couple of months, he had accept their methods and forget just about everything he'd learnt in New York. Easier said than done, but he had little choice.

"Heads up, Boscorelli. You're not paying attention to the radio again." His partner scolded, grabbing the mike from the centre console. "Six Adam."

"Be advised, Engine 39 has requested assistance at 133 Flaherty Way. A crowd is preventing the Company from entering the structure. Ten-three?"

"Ten-four." Deschaine snorted. "Lucky for them we're right around the corner," she said, returning the mike to its metal clip on the side of the radio. "Hit the lights."

Bosco obeyed without reply and looked out the driver's side window as the cruiser came around the corner onto Flaherty Way. The light of flames licking out a second floor window cast eerie shadows on the crowd milling around in front of the building, determinedly keeping the frustrated firefighters from getting close. He turned the siren on as the unit eased toward the group. Someone from the crowd heaved a chunk of cement at the approaching cruiser.

"You did _not_ just throw that crap at my car. Look at that! He scratched the paint." Deschaine slapped the siren from 'Wail' to 'Wig-wag' and then turned the noise off before shifting the vehicle into park. "That's it, I'm pissed. Nobody puts a dent into my brand-new cruiser. Let's go."

"Right," Bosco said, grabbing his nightstick on his way out. He sensed immediately that the mood of this crowd was far from friendly when several more pieces of cement and brick hit the street in front of the two cops.

"Get the shotgun."

"What?"

"It's on the ceiling over the seats. Get it out here now."

He ducked back through the open passenger door and saw the weapon held securely in place by a rack over the seats. After a moment's study, he figured out how to get it free and emerged with it. Deschaine had drawn her sidearm as the rain of debris continued. Simple crowd control was no longer an option as members of the crowd started toward the cruiser.

"Crap."

"Rack one up," she ordered, flicking the safety catch off with her thumb. Bosco pulled the pump back and was rewarded with the loud and satisfying clack of a shotgun shell entering the chamber. The approaching group stopped dead at the sound, clearly reconsidering an open attack.

"Break up and go home!" Deschaine barked at the crowd. "Nobody needs to get hurt here."

Somebody in the crowd shouted a rude comment in response and colour flooded her cheeks. Bosco looked at her across the roof to check her composure. She was in control, albeit a little embarrassed.

"I won't say it again. Break up and go home."

There was no sign of acknowledgement from the crowd, save for a second wave of cement chunks and rocks. Deschaine ducked as a piece of brick flew past her head. Obviously, verbal warnings were insufficient.

"Six Adam, Boston. We're going to need additional units at this location. Large crowd throwing debris at us. Engine 39 has taken cover behind their rig."

"Ten-four, Adam."

"Boy responding."

"Charlie responding."

"Four David responding."

The crowd had started forward again, emboldened by the lack of further offensive action from the two outnumbered cops.

"Now what, Deschaine?"

She swallowed nervously, resting the barrel of her gun on the edge of the open driver's door. "I don't know."

_Wonderful. _Bosco lifted the shotgun to his shoulder anyway. "I say we walk 'em back."

"With just the two of us?!"

"Why not? We got backup coming."

"It won't do us any good if we get our skulls bashed in before they get here!"

"I don't hear you coming up with anything better." Bosco retorted.

A _pop_ echoed in the night air and suddenly there was a new dent in the cruiser's hood. Both cops stared at the hole. There was no more time to argue now.

"Cover!" Deschaine yelled as another shot cracked into the pavement near the left front tire. She and Bosco dropped into firing crouches, using the open doors for the light cover they provided. "Six Adam, shots fired! I repeat, shots fired at police!"

Sirens burst to life from only a few blocks away. Backup was coming with banners flying. Another shot sank into the ground only a few inches from Bosco's boot. His memory flashed back to the hotel room Faith was staring calmly down the barrel of Cruz's gun. She showed no trace of fear as the wild-eyed sergeant ranted and waved her weapon around carelessly. He'd been all but frozen, mesmerised by the chilling spectacle unfolding in front of him. When he finally realised that something was going to happen, his hand slipped down to his gun. He didn't care what happened to Cruz. All he cared about was protecting his partner…

_"Boscorelli!"_ Deschaine's voice was tense. "What's happening over there?"

He fought the shiver that coursed through him and risked a peek around the edge of the door. There were five or six people advancing on him. One of them was carrying a gun in his left hand.

"I got a shooter!"

Deschaine threw a glance at him over the seats, visibly fighting to calm her frayed nerves. "Same here. Go hot if he does."

_Go hot._ He had never heard that phrase before but he knew exactly what it meant. The shiver danced along his spine again, stronger this time. Getting into a shoot-out with a guy in a crowd wasn't what he had imagined he'd be doing on his second shift. The punk with the gun brought his left arm up. In agonising slow motion, Bosco saw the finger tightening on the trigger. _Go hot._ His own finger curled around the shotgun's trigger and he shifted his weight to his right side to get a clear shot. A split second hung in the air as he sucked in a breath to steady his aim. _Go hot._

The shotgun bucked hard against his shoulder when he squeezed the trigger, the boom rattling his eardrums. The sharp _pop_ of the other gun going off was completely drowned out by the shotgun blast, but Bosco heard the crackle of shattering glass well enough. Bits of the window showered down on him and he ducked forward to avoid getting glass down his shirt. The shooter in the crowd was down, thankfully, hit in the side. A grumble of anger rippled through the crowd at the sight of the downed man.

"Oh crap." Bosco muttered, peeking through the space where the window should have been.

"You all right?" Deschaine called.

"Yeah."

Other cruisers were on scene now and the cops spilling out of them with guns drawn were a welcome sight. Bosco straightened from his crouch, keeping the shotgun levelled at the crowd. The people apparently decided that enough was enough. One by one, they put their hands on their heads at the shouted command from one of the newly-arrived officers. Only when the last one had dropped to his knees did Bosco let out a relieved breath. He never liked getting shot at.

"You guys okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Donahue. Go check on the guy Boscorelli hit."

"Medics are on the way. He doesn't look too bad." Donahue grinned. "You're a horrible shot with that thing. You only just clipped him."

Bosco only nodded, feeling strangely numb. He put the shotgun back into the cruiser and looked around. The firefighters had reappeared to do what they could for the building that had blazed away while the brief shoot-out had gone on. There wasn't much hope for the building anymore.

"Hey, you all right?"

"Yeah. That was a bit scary."

Deschaine nodded. "I hate getting shot at. C'mon, we gotta sign out of service and head back to the house. The detectives will be waiting. Boy and Charlie will handle these punks for us."

"Right. I'm ready." Bosco dusted glass shards off his seat before getting into the cruiser. He slid the shotgun back into the rack on the ceiling, for some reason hating the weapon. It had power and authority, but he hated it. His emotions made no sense, but precious little did anymore. As Deschaine backed the cruiser away from the cluster of other vehicles, his thoughts turned to his old job. The investigation following the hotel room shoot-out had just about finished when he'd quit. After the animosity that had flown around the house during that mess, he was extremely apprehensive about talking to any detective, IAB or not.

And, as expected, he thought about Faith. He had severed all contact with people from the precinct so he had no idea how she was doing. For all intents and purposes, he'd dropped off the face of the earth. Nobody but Swersky knew where he had gone. The lieutenant wasn't thrilled about it, but Bosco had gotten him to swear not to tell anyone. He didn't want people bugging him to come back.

He looked over at his new partner and wondered if he'd get into another tight spot where a repeat of the hotel room would come to pass. If he screwed up that badly again, would he get this partner shot too? The idea was unbearable and he wanted desperately to believe that such a thing wouldn't happen again, that he'd learned his lesson. He couldn't handle another disaster like that. Where would he go if it happened again? Would he leave Boston for another post in a new department, somewhere farther away this time? Maybe he'd just give up on being a cop altogether and find some far less dangerous job, something that wouldn't issue a gun or a uniform as part of the standard equipment.

"Wake up over there."

"Huh?"

Deschaine was looking at him worriedly. "You sure you're all right? You've been spaced out for the whole ride."

"Sorry. I was just thinking about – " he stopped himself and angrily collected his flashlight and nightstick as a prelude to exiting the vehicle.

"Thinking about what?"

"Nothing." He hadn't intended the reply to come out so sharply, and a flicker of surprised hurt came and went from his partner's face.

"Okay. They're your demons."

Bosco felt his anger rise again. "It's none of your damn business what I'm thinking. Keep your stupid concern to yourself and just do The Job, okay?" He kicked open the windowless passenger door and fairly threw himself out of the cruiser. Guilt was already nibbling at him for his outburst but pride made him keep walking into the precinct. Guilt and pride. He had a terrible feeling that those two emotions were going to be constant enemies until he found a way to forgive himself for getting his best friend shot.

* * *

She watched the lieutenant through half-closed eyes, waiting for the inevitable, cautious greeting. Everyone treated her with kid gloves, as if she were some fragile porcelain doll that couldn't be handled roughly. She was still a cop, dammit, and more than capable of taking care of herself. After the news about Bosco, what could anyone possibly say that would be worse?

"Hey, Faith." Swersky's tone was low, as if he expected her to be sleeping.

"Hey boss."

He didn't seem surprised that she was awake. "Sully said he'd told you about Bosco. I was hoping to tell you myself when you were better."

_When you were better._ That would happen as damn soon as she could make it. She wanted her partner back. This was all her fault. "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. All he said was he was leaving."

"This is my fault, Lieu. I told him to go away but I never dreamed that he would take me so literally."

Swersky's face was gentle. "Maybe you can convince him to come back."

"I would, except I don't know how to find him. And it's damn hard to go anywhere like this."

"It's Bosco. Sooner or later, he'll turn up. He likes the spotlight."

"Yeah." Faith looked down at her fingers, linked tightly together. How could she sort out this mess that she had created? She needed Bosco around, even if she never saw him face-to-face. Just knowing that her best friend was somewhere in the precinct was a comfort. If anything happened, he'd be the first one there. _But not anymore._ "I miss him already, Lieu. He's only been gone for what, three days? I feel like I've lost something irreplaceable."

"We all do. It's not the same without him stirring up trouble." Swersky smiled ruefully. "I miss having him to yell at when something goes wrong."

"Any word on Bosco?" Fred asked as he entered the room.

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"Odd. Usually everyone knows where he is."

Swersky shrugged. "He's definitely keeping a low profile, but I've asked some people I know to let me know if he shows up on their streets."

"I'm not all that fond of Bosco, but for him to quit his job and simply disappear just because Faith told him to, even I feel bad for him."

"He's certainly taken this whole mess hard. Sully said he saw Bosco giving Sergeant Cruz the third degree before he left for good."

"Good. She deserves every bit of blame for this." Faith said tartly.

"I'm glad you're doing all right. I've got to get back to the house before it gets any later. Take care, okay?"

"Thanks for stopping by, Lieu."

The lieutenant paused in the doorway to offer a half-smile. "Sure."

* * *

Her partner was uncomfortable in the detectives' squad room. He all but squirmed as Patrick Harris asked him about the brief shoot-out. Something about detectives really put him on edge. Did it have anything to do with why he'd left the NYPD? She watched him fidget and figured that it probably did. Harris was more than aware of Boscorelli's discomfort and honed in on it. It wasn't necessarily his job to play the role of IA detective, but Boscorelli's clear restlessness gave Harris ample reason to grill him hard. Deschaine watched the interview from the hallway, waiting patiently for her turn in the proverbial hot-seat. _Calm down, Boscorelli.__ It's not like you shot another cop or something._

Good God. The well-greased wheels inside her head started spinning overtime. He didn't like detectives so he'd obviously had bad experiences with them before. _What in the hell did you _do_ in New York, anyway?_ Certainly Captain Driscoll wouldn't let a disgraced cop onto his patrol force. Unless there was something that Boscorelli hadn't told him, which seemed more and more likely. He'd been quick to deflect her questions about his old job so there had to be some sort of skeleton in the closet. She wondered if he'd get to trust her enough to tell her. It was very difficult to work with somebody with lingering demons like his.

Deschaine hooked her thumbs on her belt and watched Harris flip to a fresh page in his notebook. He must be done with Boscorelli. Great, it was her turn. Her partner practically ran in his eagerness to leave the office. She reached out to stop him before he could head toward the locker room.

"Hey, you all right?"

He shoved her arm away. "I'm fine. Go get it over with so we can get back out there."

"We have to wait a bit for the detectives to clear us."

"Fine, whatever. I'll be outside."

The alarm bells were clanging loudly inside her head. "Don't go too far," she muttered as she stepped into the squad room.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon," Harris said, giving her a quick, almost suggestive once-over. She sat down without a greeting, determined not to give him the benefit of a prolonged view.

"This is business, Patrick. Ask me the damn questions so I can get out of here."

"And I thought you just missed me."

Deschaine scoffed. "Hard to miss the son-of-a-bitch who hopped into the sack with some wench from District Seven behind my back."

"That was a misunderstanding, Sarah."

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with so I don't end up sitting here any longer than I have to."

"Come on. You know you still – "

She stood up abruptly. "Where's Kyle? I want him to handle this interview."

"He's down at the desk. C'mon, Sarah, I didn't mean – "

"Grow up and get your eyes off my chest. Do your damn job or let someone else do it for you."

Harris had the nerve to look hurt. "Fine. Sit down and we can begin. When did you and your partner first get fired upon?"

"We were using our cruiser for cover after people in the crowd started throwing pieces of cement at us. I told Boscorelli to get the shotgun out as a show of force, but it didn't work. Two guys near the front of the crowd opened fire and I called for backup."

"Did you return fire before backup arrived?"

"I didn't. Boscorelli fired at the guy who was shooting at him and dropped him. All offensive fire ceased at that point."

"So the only one of you to discharge a weapon was your partner?"

"That's what I just told you."

The detective tapped the end of his pen against the desk. "One last question. Why'd you break up with me?"

Deschaine was on her feet immediately. "Because you're a bastard." She let the door slam behind her, disgusted at his behaviour. Kyle Tibbets was walking toward the squad room, reading from some report. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes directly – unlike his partner – and smiled.

"How'd it go?"

"He should hang himself with that ugly tie he's wearing."

Tibbets laughed. "I'll be sure to pass that along."

"No, don't. He'll only take it as a come-on. I don't want that slime thinking he's got a chance."

"Roger. Take it easy out there."

* * *

"You want to tell me why you left New York?"

Bosco stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets to protect them from the brisk September wind. He didn't look at his partner. "No."

The rustle of fabric told him that she also had her hands in her pockets. "You want to tell me why you're being such a jerk, then?"

"My personal life is none of your business."

"It is if it's tagging along with us on street." She told him bluntly. "Look, you may have things you don't want anyone to know about and that's peachy. It's your business. But it becomes _my_ business when it gets in the way."

"It's not."

"It's not. Okay. Then the daze you fell into when we were getting shot at was just you concentrating real hard?"

Bosco interrupted his study of the building across the street to glare at her. "I don't get distracted."

"You were staring off somewhere like nothing was going on."

"So I spaced for a second."

"A second? Boscorelli, I was yelling at you for a good five minutes before you came back from whatever planet you drifted off to. If that's not distraction, I don't know what is."

"Sorry. I just lost focus."

Deschaine's voice was disbelieving. "You lost focus. You spaced out. What in the hell made you leave New York and bring your sorry ass here? Did you get distracted and let somebody take a hit they shouldn't have?"

She might as well have taken a knife and driven it straight into his heart. How could she know what had happened to his old partner? No one here knew. Bosco felt his chest grow tight. It was happening again. His carelessness was creating doubt where no doubt should be. It was just a guess, that's all, she had no idea she had hit on the truth. Just a guess. He had to relax before she got even more suspicious. Take a breath and relax. Can't let his sudden tension become apparent.

"I covered for you with the detectives about the daze. Don't make me regret it."

"I slipped up. It won't happen again."

"It better not. I won't work with somebody who might get me or himself shot." She said, somehow not noticing his silent battle to keep from bursting out the truth. It was better that nobody knew.

"Yeah." Bosco drew a steadying breath, intensely grateful that she accepted his statement at face value.

"Come on, it's getting chilly out here. Let's go inside."

A strange impulse rippled through him. He reached for her jacket sleeve as she started to walk away. "Deschaine."

"What?"

"Thanks for…" he tried to find words to better express his relief that she hadn't pressed him for details, that she'd kept silent about his inattention. The words eluded him. "Thanks."

She looked at him for a long moment before giving him a slight smile. "You're welcome."


	5. The Deal

Short filler chapter.

Sorry about the delay, folks. I took Thanksgiving off and some family issues have come up, so I don't know how much time I'll be able to devote to my keyboard. I'll do my best to update when I can.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

* * *

"Boston, Six Adam." 

Bosco was happy to note that he was the first one to reach the mike. "Six Adam."

"Be advised, Public Works has workers clearing a fallen tree at the corner of Washington Street and East Newton Street. They request a unit for traffic control. Ten-three?"

"Ten-four, Washington and Newton."

"BPW doesn't have their own flaggers? That's a new one." Deschaine commented, pulling into the nearest parking lot to turn around. "Anything to keep from doing the job themselves, I suppose."

"Why don't they just get the bucketboys to clear it? They've got heavy equipment too."

"What are they gonna do with a _tree_, Boscorelli? Use it to stand on?"

Bosco blushed. "Good point."

His partner shook her head. "Man, I don't know about you. Thinking on your feet isn't one of your strong suits, is it?"

"I do all right."

"Ah, yes. So says the guy who narrowly avoided a concussion as a result of a whack in the head when he was trying to break up a bar brawl."

"Hey, that medic did say I got a head like a rock."

"Yeah! It shows." Deschaine parked the cruiser at the curb and grabbed her hat off the dash. "Hope you brought your gloves. It's a little nippy out today."

"A little? I'm freezing!"

She grinned over the top of the cruiser. "Man, you New Yorkers have thin skin."

"It's thirty degrees out!"

"Welcome to September in Boston. Come on, we've got traffic to direct."

Bosco zipped up his jacket and made sure his gloves were on snugly. She could like the chilly weather all she wanted, he would rather be warm. He tugged the wool beanie over his ears. Damn he hated the cold.

"Come on! You take the other end. I've got 'em stopped here."

"Right." He trotted around the parked dump truck, taking care to watch the cars going by. Traffic control sucked too. After waiting a moment, he quickly crossed the street and looked toward his partner. She was standing in the middle of the intersection, holding three lanes of stopped. He looked down his lane. Deciding they could stop for a couple minutes, he stepped out into the road, sticking the icy metal of his whistle between his lips.

"You're clear," he told her over the radio.

Cars inched forward, moving around the dump truck. Bosco stepped back to let them through. He checked the lane he had stopped, then glanced at his partner. She was waving through the Southbound lane. More power to her for being willing to stand in a four-way intersection. Making such an easy target of himself wasn't high on his list of things to do.

A driver in his lane laid on his horn, drawing his attention. It was the guy in the beat-up Taurus three cars back. Bosco smirked to himself as he approached. Pushy motorists were fun to mess with.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"What the hell is the hold up? I've got a meeting in ten minutes. I can't be late!"

Bosco pointed at theBPW truck. "You see that truck there? That's a Public Works vehicle. They're cleaning up a mess right now, so you'll have to wait a little bit before you can go through."

"You don't understand. I _have_ to be at this meeting!"

"And I have to tell you to wait." Bosco stepped back and straightened, ignoring the man's flustered blubbering. These people never understood that they were his biggest form of entertainment.

"Ready to let your lane through?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You're clear here."

Bosco turned and waved the cars forward, taking care to smirk at the guy in the Taurus. Hey, he had to find something to amuse himself with here. Might as well pick on idiot drivers.

"Son-of-a-bitch." The oath slipped out before he could stop it. A Jeep with out-of-state plates had been inching forward, trying to get to the front of the line he was directing. The driver saw him standing in the road and gunned his engine. Bosco gave sharp blast on his whistle, but the driver didn't slow down. He sucked in a deep breath and whistled again, then dove headlong toward the BPW truck as the Jeep cut off a Nissan pickup and accelerated toward the intersection.

"Hey, you all right?" Deschaine shouted, racing out of the intersection.

"Get to the car!" Bosco barked as he shoved off the ground. What the hell was that all about?

"Officer, you okay?" Somebody called. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a guy leaning out the window of his car.

"Stay in your car, sir!"

Deschaine was in the cruiser when he pounded up and threw himself into the passenger's seat. The blue and white lights, which had been flashing the whole time, went from a warning pattern to alert when Deschaine flicked a couple of switches. "Siren." She said tersely and Bosco turned it on. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. That Jeep just blasted through."

"Great. Six Adam, Boston. In pursuit of traffic control jumper, heading west on East Newton Street. White Jeep with out-of-state plates, looks like a Connecticut tag."

"Ten-four, Adam. Four David, did you copy?"

"Four David, ten-four. We're half a block from East Newton. Standby, Six unit."

"Standby my ass. You're not getting this guy." Deschaine muttered. "He's not even in your district yet."

The Jeep was visible a block or two ahead. With other cars pulling to the side to let the cruiser through, it wouldn't be much longer before they were right behind the guy. The driver seemed to grasp that fact and increased his speed.

"Oh come on, pal. You sure that piece of crap can handle going any faster?"

"Whoa!" Bosco's eyes went wide. "What the hell was that?"

Deschaine risked a glance back over her shoulder. "Um, I don't think I want to know, but it looked like something important."

"Like a muffler, maybe?"

"Six Adam, Boston. Now heading northbound on Tremont."

The Jeep's tail-pipe was starting to belch out blue smoke as the driver pushed the vehicle faster. Deschaine shook her head in disbelief.

"He's burnin' oil. If this wasn't so dangerous, I'd be amused."

"Watch out!"

His partner cranked the wheel to the left, barely missing the hunk of metal tumbling along the pavement. "Well, there goes the oil pan."

"What are the odds that Jeep is just gonna fall apart in the middle of the road?"

"I would put money on it at this point."

Bosco made a face. "You think this might be why he jumped the line back there?"

"Six Adam, Boston. This guy's car is falling apart all over the road."

"Repeat, Adam."

"You've got to be kidding me." Deschaine said. "We are pursuing a white Jeep with out-of-state tags northbound on Tremont Street. The vehicle is losing parts as we speak now."

The dispatcher sounded disbelieving. "Losing parts, Adam?"

"Affirmative, Boston. I almost ran over the oil pan a second ago."

Silence filled the airwaves. Deschaine rolled her eyes and dropped the mike into her lap. "Screw you guys. I don't have time to wait on you."

"Was that I think it was?"

"Quite possibly." His partner answered. "I want to know how he plans to keep going without gas."

"That Jeep is such a piece of junk." Bosco stated.

"You think? I'm just waiting for him to roll to stop now."

The radio squawked. "Boston, Six Adam. Pursuit status?"

"Can you grab that? I'm not in the mood to BS with those jokers anymore today."

"Um…"

Deschaine glanced at him, ready to snap at him, then followed his gaze down. "Oh. Right." She picked up the mike from her lap and handed it to him. "Sorry."

Bosco shook his head. It wasn't worth commenting on. "Six Adam."

"Adam, be advised, Four David is in position for roadblock at the intersection of Tremont and East Berkeley Street. Ten-three?"

"Are they stupid? He won't make it that far!" His partner snatched the mike from him. "Ten-four on that, Boston. Roadblock unnecessary, we got him."

"I didn't copy, Adam."

"Send a wrecker to Dwight and Tremont. Vehicle has ended the pursuit."

It was true. The Jeep coasted to the curb, no longer leaking gas. Bosco wanted to laugh. Poor sucker at least knew when to give up.

"You want this collar?"

"He almost turned you into pavement pancakes. You don't want it?"

"Not really."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks."

"Don't you just love this job?" He asked with a grin as she pulled out her summons book.

"Oh yes. Stupid people just make my day."

* * *

"Ready to go home?" 

She looked around the room that had been her home for the last several days and wanted to be far, far away from it. "Let's get out of here."

"You got it."

Doc and Carlos were waiting near the elevators for them. Their expressions hovered somewhere between happiness at seeing her out of the hospital bed and uncertainty of her mood. It was true that she hadn't been too personable for a couple of days and the word must have spread. She had only been impatient to get out of the hospital and back to the familiar surroundings of her apartment.

"Glad to be going home?" Carlos asked hesitantly.

"Yeah."

The paramedic nodded wordlessly, stepping into the elevator after her and Fred. Silence ruled the short ride to the lobby level and Fred wheeled her to the ambulance entrance, where her ride home waited. Faith was slightly surprised to Sully and Davis standing near the automatic doors. She hadn't thought that Sully had gotten over the squabble that marked his last visit. Maybe he hadn't, because he only nodded in greeting.

"Hey, Faith." Davis said.

"Hey Davis."

"Ready to go?"

She looked at the faces gathered above her. Doc, Carlos, Sully, Davis. People she knew and loved as friends. Would they ever forgive her for what she'd done to member of their team? Everyone knew by now that Bosco was long gone and the rumours probably supplied the reason why. This guilt was going to be a heavy weight to bear until she found a way to forgive herself for betraying him.

"Yeah."

Doc and Carlos helped her out of the wheelchair and onto the stretcher, which had been set up as a seat of sorts. Davis took the wheelchair, collapsing it so it would fit in the trunk of the RMP. It was time.

"Hey, Davis. No sirens."

The other officer nodded, then he and his partner moved out of sight around the bus. Carlos swung the doors shut, closing off her view of the hospital's interior. A moment later, the ambulance shuddered as Carlos started the engine. Faith looked up at Fred, sitting on the narrow bench beside her. He'd been there almost every minute. She needed him to be.

"How are you feeling?"

She glanced briefly out the windows in the back doors. The hospital was fading steadily in the distance. "I'm glad that I'm going home."

* * *

He handed the radio back to the officer manning the cage and turned away toward the stairs. After the idiot with the rust-bucket Jeep, the shift had been dull. That was fine by him. The inside of the cruiser was warm and comfortable and the lack of serious calls didn't bother him much at all. When he'd asked his partner if September was always this freezing, she had only shrugged and said it was a cold snap. Great, thanks a lot. Bosco stripped off the layers of clothing and made sure to hang them up to dry out. Weariness had settled over him after the double shift he had been scheduled for yesterday and having to get up bright and early for the day shift really screwed with his sleep. New guy's hours _sucked_. He'd be glad to get on a regular cycle. 

"Hey, Deschaine. There's a detail up for grabs tomorrow night. You interested?"

Bosco looked at his partner, who was pulling a turtleneck over her head. She returned the gaze with an even look of her own.

"What do you think?"

"What am I, your keeper?"

"It's usually a two-man detail. I just figured you might like the overtime." Deschaine squashed the flicker of hurt neatly, but he caught the sting his sharp retort had caused. Would he ever learn to think before speaking?

"Maybe. What's the job?"

"Ballgame coverage." The sergeant said. "They need extra bodies at Fenway."

"I'll take it." Deschaine said without hesitation. "I won't pass up the chance for a free Sox game."

"Red Sox," he muttered. "Only in Bean-town."

"What about you, Boscorelli?"

Deschaine looked like she wanted to hit him. She probably heard his comment. "He'll take it, too."

"All right. Be here around six-thirty tomorrow evening."

"What was that?" Bosco demanded.

Her expression was devilish. "If you're gonna live and work here, Boscorelli, you might as well get used to being around Sox fans."

_Crap._ He zipped up his jacket and shut his locker. "Fine. If you're gonna be my partner for who-knows-how-long, you might as well start callin' me Bosco."

"Fair enough." Deschaine held out her hand. "I will if you don't piss off any fans tomorrow night with your Yankees crap."

"Done." He returned her grip firmly, grinning. He liked a good challenge.


	6. Faith's Resolve

Another short chapter to keep you happy! Consider it an early Christmas present. I don't usually update twice in one week. ;-)

Enjoy!

* * *

It was weird not having a nurse come in every fifteen minutes or so to check on her. The lack of constant pestering was somewhat nice, actually. Fred was attentive but not overbearing and she was grateful for that. The doctor said the paralysis was only temporary. If she worked at it, it wouldn't be long before she could be back on her feet. Literally. Faith looked forward to walking again. Not having the use of her legs was… unnerving. She was used to mobility and being wheelchair-bound was confining. Unconsciously, she rubbed her back, where she knew that bullet had come to rest. Damn that bitch sergeant. Faith didn't make it a habit to dislike people more than they deserved, but Cruz more than earned all of her hatred.

A sharp pain stabbed through her back and she stiffened in the chair. Dammit, that was unexpected. Her fingers tightened on the chair arms until the spasm passed. Nobody had told her _that_ would happen. Where in the hell had the pain come from, anyway? She had only been thinking about what Cruz had done to her…

"Son-of-a-_bitch!_" The pain hit her again with the same viciousness.

"Faith?" Fred was in the living room in a heartbeat. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she lied, forcing herself to relax. It took a supreme effort to unclench her fists but she couldn't let Fred see her this worked up. He'd only worry and right then, worrying was the last thing he needed to be doing. "Sorry."

He wasn't entirely convinced. "You're kinda pale. Maybe you should go lie down for awhile."

"I'm not – " she bit her lip and decided not to make him feel as helpless as she did. "Yeah, that sounds good. It's been a long day."

"Okay." The relief in his voice was palpable. Faith realised that he had no idea how to accommodate her. Before, she was able to come and go as she pleased without anyone's help… before… a fresh wave of guilt bubbled up from somewhere inside. She wasn't the only one suffering as a result of this situation. All the more reason to get better as quickly as she could.

"Thank you."

Fred smiled a little as he bent to kiss her forehead. "You're welcome."

When he had gone, Faith looked at the wheelchair next to the bed. It was sobering to recognise the device as her only means of getting around her own apartment. She needed to walk again, if only for her own sense of worth.

Self-worth. Ha. How little of that she had left. Between her best friend vanishing like early-morning fog and her current condition, there wasn't a whole lot of room for confidence. Her fault. At least part of this mess was her fault. _Because I wanted to blame him for everything._ That was why she had looked Bosco in the eye and told him to get out of her life. She'd wanted desperately to slap the blame on him, to make him feel responsible for the living hell she was going through. How childish of her. There had been so much unspoken pain in his eyes as he turned to walk away for the last time. He had been blaming himself enough for the both of them and she had to be stupid and make him feel even worse. Now he wasn't even around for her to apologise. No one knew where he had gone, or if they did, they weren't telling her.

In how many ways could this be more unfair? Faith looked down at her clenched fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. This must be what it felt like to know that you had lost the one person you could call your best friend. She had to find out where he had run to and make this right. At the very least she had to apologise. Even if it changed nothing else, she would make sure that he understood she hadn't wanted to drive him away.

She looked again at the wheelchair, curling her lip. That ugly piece of metal and vinyl was _not_ going to be a permanent fixture in her life. There was no way in hell that she would allow herself to be confined to that… _thing_ longer than necessary. She was going to walk again, dammit.

She had no other choice.


	7. Of Baseball and Bets

Stephen King rocks. 

I used a lot of player stats in this chapter, but I fictionalised things like last appearances for the pitchers and so on for the sake of a conversation. Don't lynch me, please. ;-)

* * *

"All right, here's the deal. I'm dividing you up into two-man teams, according to your usual pairings. Some of you don't have your regular partner here and that's fine. Good chance to shake yourself up a bit." Sergeant Byrne said, looking over the assembled cops. "Mounted Unit will be out in force tonight, as with every game. I hear that the Metro Transit will be loaning us some of its people for the night as well. Any chance you got some friends in that bunch, Deschaine?"

"Dunno, Sarge. I'd have to see who got volunteered."

Byrne grinned, waiting a moment before waving down the chuckles. "Tonight's pairings are: Crocker and Hayden, Stratton and McIntyre, Deschaine and Boscorelli. Most coverage will be handled as usual by District Four, but they asked for some extra help tonight. Any guesses why?" The cops – with the exception of Bosco – booed. Byrne nodded and went on. "Of course. The good news is this series wraps up tonight – one way or another. Bad news is there's gonna be a full house and then some at Fenway and more than a couple Yankees fans who've travelled all the way from NYC to watch their boys. No matter who wins it, there will be quite a few disappointed fans. The district commander has requested the SWAT team to assemble and be on standby as the game winds down, just in case."

"Big guns, huh?"

"Take no chances, Hayden. Any questions? Okay. Van's waiting outside, let's roll."

Bosco nudged his partner as he got to his feet. "Just how bad do your fans get?"

"We have our moments, like I'm sure you Yankees fans do. Try not to get too into the game when we're there. I don't really want to get stuck in the middle of riot you started because of you cheering for the wrong team."

"The wrong team?"

"Yeah. Around here, your team is the wrong team. You can support them all you want, but try to keep it on the back burner tonight."

"Sure thing," Bosco said.

* * *

It was barely seven o'clock and there were flocks of people outside the park waiting to get in. The blue and white police van eased carefully through the crowds spilling over into the street. A group of six or seven shouted derisively at the sight of the van and Bosco noted that they all were wearing Yankees' jerseys. It was just a bunch of kids – high school kids by the look of them. He chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Those kids over there. They look barely sixteen. Probably caught the train up for the game. I bet they're from the Bronx – those people tend to be the most rabid fans."

Deschaine shook her head. "Those would be the ones to expect trouble from, then?"

"More than likely. I guess anybody could start a riot, but those guys… yeah, they'd be at the top of my list of punks to watch."

"Pile out!" Sergeant Byrne called and the six cops hit the street. "We'll have to go through the ticket entrance, I'm afraid. Some idiot locked the service entrance door. I'm not waiting for somebody to come open it for us. Two lines, form up. Make sure to stick close to your partner. I don't want some half-tanked Yankee-head thinking we're easy targets."

Bosco fell in behind the tall cop named Crocker. Deschaine's hand came to rest on his left shoulder, and he figured that was the procedure. He lifted his left arm to grip Crocker's shoulder. As the six cops approached the crowds of waiting fans, the tactic suddenly made sense. It was hard to get at a single cop if the whole line was in physical contact with each other. It also left everyone with their gun hand free, he realised a second later.

"Clear the way!" Byrne barked at the people standing in clusters on the sidewalk. "Step aside, sir!"

Amazingly, the crowd parted to let the two lines of cops pass. Bosco keep his eyes forward but he could feel the weight of a hundred stares on him as he half-walked, half-marched with the others. The brim of his hat shaded his eyes from the harsh glare of the Halogen lights that lit up the wide interior hall. Byrne led them past a concession stand, already crowded with people looking for a pre-game hotdog. An officer with captain's bars on his jacket approached them with the easy gait of someone who had spent years walking the beat.

"Sergeant Byrne, you're early."

"It's a big game, sir. Where do you want us?"

"The first base line needs people. Metro Transit is covering the home dugout. I need a pair in the visitor's bullpen too."

"Yes sir." Byrne faced the waiting detail. "Crocker, Hayden, you've got the right field foul pole. Stratton and McIntyre have the bullpen. Deschaine, you and Boscorelli get the middle sections. Game starts at eight but there are enough folks in the stands already that we're now officially on duty. Let's go."

His partner started toward the nearest set of stairs leading up to the stands. He followed her, wishing that he could have gotten the spot in the visitor's bullpen. The game would be a lot more enjoyable with a couple Yankees pitchers to banter with.

"Hey, Bosco. You want a coffee or something?"

"No. I'm all set for now."

Deschaine shrugged. "Suit yourself. We get this post. Hang out here for a moment, I want a coffee."

"You're _not _leavin' me here with all these…" he trailed off in mid-sentence, realising that they had been assigned to a predominantly Red Sox section. His partner only smirked as she disappeared amongst the crowd milling around. "I can't believe she just did that," Bosco muttered to himself, claiming an empty seat in the front row. Might as well be comfortable while he still could. For the rest of the night he was going to be on his feet.

Out on the field, the players were tossing balls around, getting loose before the start of the game. He wished he could prop his feet up on the railing across from him and just enjoy the view, but there were too many people moving around. What had Deschaine been thinking when she volunteered him for this detail? The extra pay was welcome, but having to stand out here and listen to these crazy Sox fans spout off about how horrid their team's luck was didn't appeal to him. So what if your team is unlucky? Get new players or something. Just quit whining about it.

"On your feet, you lazy bum," his partner admonished, emerging from the crowd.

"Aw, come on. This is a prime seat."

"You didn't pay for it, someone else did. Besides, we'll have the best view in the whole park from where we're standing."

"You're no fun."

"I do my best. Here, I got you a coffee anyway." She held out a Styrofoam cup to him. "Trust me, you're gonna want it."

"Thanks." He took the cup. "Are we supposed to stand here all night or what?"

"No, we get to walk around some too. Mostly, we're here to keep people from getting onto the field."

Bosco turned to look up at the rows of seats. "Somehow, I think if they really, really wanted, people could get onto the field."

"Stop being such an alarmist. It's not the fans that I'd be wary of. It's the players. I mean, these guys are paid millions of dollars to just to play baseball and if something goes down on the field, they're more than happy to join in. To them, it's a bonus. They get to play _and_ brawl all in the space of a few hours. Most fans don't want to join in a massive fistfight in the middle of an inning. They paid good money to see a good game of baseball." Deschaine sipped from the steaming cup in her gloved hand. "It's supply and demand, really. Fans pay these guys' salary by buying tickets, so it's the players' job to give the fans what they're paying to see."

"That's all this game really is? Economics?"

"More or less. It's a sport, yeah, but the money that these franchises make in a year is crazy. Why do you think Pedro Martinez gets paid twenty-five million just to pitch seven or eight innings?"

"He gets twenty-five million? Come on. He's not even that good a pitcher!"

His partner shook her head. "Name one pitcher who go head-to-head with Pedro and hold his own."

"Roger Clemens."

"Come on, Bosco. Clemens only has fifteen wins on the season."

"So what? A pitcher is a pitcher. I'd like to see your buddy Pedro back up what you claim."

"Not this game. Wakefield's on the mound tonight."

Bosco rolled his eyes. "Oh man, this is gonna be a sweep! Wakefield's the worst guy in their bullpen!"

Several fans glared daggers at him as they edged past.

"That is so much crap. The guy has one or two bad nights and he's an awful pitcher? I'd like to see you try to bat against him when he's on his game."

"Whatever. The last time Wakefield was on the mound, he gave up six hits and four runs. Tell me how that's good pitching."

"You want to get technical? All right, try this. In his last appearance, Pedro allowed only three hits and no runs. He pitched seven innings before Alan Embree came in to finish."

"And did the Sox manage to win that game? No. The reliever blew the lead by letting two runs cross the plate." Bosco shot back. "Is that the best you can do?"

"You say that Pedro and Wake are crappy pitchers. Explain, then, how during the whole season, Wakefield didn't give up any home runs when he faced the Yankees. In fact, he only allowed twenty runs _total_ against your Yankee batters."

"Which means nothing if those twenty runs helped to win games anyway. Come on, Deschaine. The Boston bullpen just doesn't have the punch it takes to be consistent."

"Consistent? I'm not hearing this," she repeated. "Consistent is all they've ever been. Competent pitching doesn't come out of thin air. I've pulled spring training security details before and the whole bullpen has been turned out, working their tails off. I counted once and Pedro alone was throwing fifty or sixty strikes, easy. Out of the seventy, seventy-five pitches I counted, that's pretty damn good. Take that and put into a game situation, then come back and talk to me about consistency."

"That's just spring training. The whole thing changes when it's on the wire and he's staring down at the big bats. Jeter can make him look like a real fool out there, no problem."

"Jeter? C'mon, the guy's a clown. Just because he's got a fast glove doesn't make him a star. He's an overpaid showboat."

Some fans sitting immediately behind them broke into applause, bringing an irritated scowl to Bosco's face. "And that Johnny Damon is any better? He needs a major haircut, for starters. Hasn't anyone told him that mullets are long outta fashion?"

"That's the lamest thing you've said so far tonight. Playing with fire isn't fun, is it?" She grinned. "I thought we were talkin' numbers, not about Damon's hair."

"You want numbers?"

"Yeah, show me how effective your vaunted Yankees pitching has been against Boston bats."

Bosco rubbed his hands together. "Mike Mussina gave up a total of _thirteen_ runs so far this year. He only allowed three home runs and six RBIs and struck out a total of nineteen Sox batters."

"Out of eighty times facing the line up." A fan piped up.

"How does that make him ineffective?" Bosco demanded.

"How does giving up only twenty runs and nine RBIs make Wakefield ineffective?" The man fired back.

"At least admit that it's gonna be a pitcher's duel, more or less." Deschaine added, nodding at the older man behind her. He gave her a smile that suggested he wouldn't be against throwing Bosco into the home dugout.

"And we'll steamroll right over Wakefield." Bosco stated petulantly.

Deschaine looked out over centre field. "The wind is blowing toward the outfield and it's not too cold. Perfect weather for a knuckle-baller. It will be fun to watch Wake go to work picking apart the Yankees' line up."

"Yeah? Okay, how about this. Twenty bucks says your boy Wakefield chokes out there and lets my Yanks walk all over him."

"Such confidence for a non-believer. It's your money, you can lose it any way you want."

"Wait." Bosco held up a finger. "Twenty bucks, _and_ the loser buys dinner for the next two shifts."

"Interesting. You're so on," she said, shaking his outstretched hand. "We'll see how your Yanks handle themselves and then I'll be happy to relieve you of an Andrew Jackson."

"Don't be countin' your winnings yet, Deschaine. This game of baseball and economics hasn't started yet."

She grinned. "Well, look who sounds smart!"

"Hey, you're the one who said it was about money. Let's just say that since we didn't buy tickets, we're making up for it with our bet. That way, we're really not getting a free game." He puffed out his chest a bit, looking smug. "And we're helping the national economy while we're enjoying this fine game of baseball. It's a win-win situation for everyone."

"Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, Alan Greenspan."

People who had been near enough to listen to the two cops' conversation laughed and a couple applauded. Deschaine smiled into her coffee cup. It was going to be an interesting night for sure.

* * *

"…and now, ladies and gentlemen, your own Boston Red Sox!"

The entire stadium seemed to tremble as thousands of people let out wild cheers and applause. Deschaine watched her partner scowl and cover his ears, and she laughed. He was so pathetic it was almost endearing. She whistled as the team trotted onto the field. It had been awhile since she had been to a home game, because of her suddenly varied work schedule. Even her season tickets weren't as good as standing in _front_ of the front row along the first base line. These details didn't come along every day.

She looked around the packed rows of seats as the announcer rambled off a bunch of ads for local businesses. Full house indeed. There was barely even standing room anywhere. People holding plastic cups filled with tell-tale amber liquid were scattered liberally throughout their section and everywhere else in the stadium. There were so many people crammed into venerable Fenway Park she was surprised the place wasn't bursting at the seams. The ratio of cops to fans wasn't even worth mentioning. She hoped that the fans would behave themselves.

"Throwing the first pitch this evening is New England's master horror story-teller, Mr Stephen King!"

Deschaine clapped as the author got ready to throw. The man could write a damn good horror novel. _Pet Sematary_ had creeped her out so badly that she didn't sleep for two days. It took a really good story to do that. King left the field and the visiting team appeared to take their positions. She watched the Yankees pitcher trot toward the mound. New York was starting Mussina. A grin came onto her face. He would have a tough time matching Wakefield if the knuckle-baller was in top form.

The shoulder mike clipped to her jacket crackled. "Check in, all field-side posts."

One by one, the cops lining the field acknowledged. "First base section, ten-four." She said, and the next pair down the line checked in. They would have to report in every hour or so, depending on the detail commander's mood.

"Check in, all deck posts."

She turned her radio down a bit. The idle chatter would start soon enough. Thankfully they weren't on the City-wide frequency. Mussina, the Yankees' starter, prepared to pitch to Johnny Damon. Turning her attention away from the field for a minute, Deschaine scanned the seats again. As much as she'd rather watch the game, she had to keep an eye on the crowd.

The umpire's gruff bark of "Strike!" was audible even over the nearly-deafening buzz of the crowd. She checked the scoreboard in right-centre. Strike two on Damon. Mussina let fly a fastball and Damon swung for it, clipping the ball with the end of his bat. The ball zipped over the first baseman's head, but the right fielder launched himself into the air, his glove reaching.

"Damn," she muttered as Damon jogged back to the dugout. A few feet away, Bosco whooped in approval. He was already forgetting his part of their initial deal. "Bosco!"

His face went pink as he threw a glance over his shoulder at all the fans behind him. "Sorry. It was a good play though."

"Keep it down before somebody hears you."

"Right."

She shook her head. It wouldn't be long before he started up again. She had a feeling he was more eager to see his team win than he was to exercise caution. A Yankee fan in a Boston Police uniform. Sure didn't get any weirder than that.

* * *

Three innings into the game, it was two-nothing New York. Derek Jeter had slapped a change-up into deep left field, bringing in Aaron Boone. The next batter had knocked a hard line-drive into centre field and Jeter managed to cross the plate ahead of the throw. Bosco was jubilant and wasted little time making sure that she knew who was in the lead. The fans sitting in the front row had to be getting tired of hearing him. She certainly was. He was going to get somebody really mad.

Her partner rubbed his gloved hands together, impatiently waiting for the fourth inning to finish. Deschaine gulped down the last of her second cup of coffee and set the Styrofoam cup on the railing in front of her. At the rate this game was going, she was going to need a lot more caffeine in order to put up with Bosco and his growing, insufferable happiness. The guy must be a regular pain when it came to any New York team.

"Can you stand quietly and watch the game or do I have to gag you?"

He grinned widely at her. "What, you're not enjoying this anymore?"

"I'd enjoy it a lot more if you'd stop hooting like a damn barn owl every time they get a hit."

"Come on. It's hard not to get excited. The Yankees are kickin' ass."

Deschaine sighed. "If you won't shut up for me, shut up for them," she said, gesturing at the irritated faces of the nearest fans. Several rows were unfortunately privy to Bosco's excited cheers and they didn't look too impressed by it. Intimidated, he gulped.

"Point taken."

"If you really want to be able to cheer to your heart's content, I can have one of the guys over on the third base line swap with you."

"Please do!" Somebody behind them yelled.

"I'll tone it down," Bosco said.

"I hope so!" Somebody else called.

"You do realise that the uniform won't protect you from angry Red Sox fans who get tired of your Yankees crap."

"Uh yeah. Thanks for pointing that out."

Turning toward the front row, she winked at the people closest to her. "I'm going to the ladies' room. You'll be okay here for a minute?"

The people who'd seen her quick grin chuckled at her partner's almost frightened expression. Deschaine said nothing as she headed for the stairs. Behind her, Bosco swallowed nervously, warily looking at the grinning fans.

"Um… good game, huh?"

* * *

She was trying to get him in trouble. At the end of every inning, she found some reason to leave him by himself in front of dozens of keyed-up Boston fans. The people sitting closest to the two cops had been given the unexpected benefit of hearing them go back and forth about who was the better team and he got the feeling that they weren't on his side. He scanned the rows of seats and thought maybe he should try a little bit harder to keep his voice down.

"Hungry?"

"A little."

Deschaine handed him a steaming hotdog. "I didn't know if you liked mustard and relish and all that crap on your hotdog, so I had them leave it plain. There's plenty of condiments back at the concession stand."

"Thanks. You don't like hotdogs?"

"Not really. I'm more partial to a plain old cheeseburger."

Bosco took a bite of the hotdog and smiled. "Good stuff! Can't beat a fresh ballpark-made hotdog."

"Nope. Every now and then I have one and they're always good." She agreed, taking a drink from her soda. "Did I miss anything?"

"No. I almost think they're at a standstill." He replied. "How did you manage to pay for all this? You've bought a hotdog, a soda, and at least four coffees. Food isn't cheap at these places."

She grinned. "I get a discount. Most of the concession stand people know me."

"For wearing a badge?"

"Frequent buyer miles. I'm here a lot."

"Good deal."

"And I worked at the grill for a couple summers way back when I was with Metro Transit," she added. "Just a little bit of extra money to supplement my salary."

"Very good deal."

"Yeah. I stopped after making the jump over to the street force. Only thing I miss is hanging out here during team practises. We were open for the players if they wanted anything before or after."

Bosco nodded approval. "Sounds like you had it pretty well under wraps."

"I guess so. What about you? What'd you do with your downtime back in New York?"

"Not much. I enjoyed it as a break, really. If there was a Yankees game or something on my day off I'd go catch it." He finished off the hotdog and crumpled up the paper container it had come in. "More often than not I'd watch some sports show on TV."

"Oh, man, you have gotta get out and live a little. You're comin' with us to New Hampshire in December. A weekend in the White Mountains will be good for you."

"Thanks, but skiing isn't my thing."

Deschaine shook her head, disbelieving. "Don't knock it if you haven't tried it."

"I don't want to try it. I'm not crazy about snow and cold, either."

"Suit yourself." She said simply, and Bosco turned his attention to the field. The score remained two-nothing in New York's favour. A grin worked its way onto his face. It was the start of the sixth inning. He'd be collecting his twenty dollars for sure.

* * *

Ty Davis dumped the contents of the popcorn bag into a plastic bowl and tossed the bag onto the counter when it was empty. The TV in the living room was turned onto the Yankees-Red Sox game. Carlos was planted firmly on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen as the Yankees trotted off the field after a relatively short half-inning. They were leading by two.

"Popcorn's up."

"Thanks," Carlos dipped his hand into the bowl as Davis set it down on the table.

"Score still the same?" He asked, dropping into the living room's single chair.

"Yup. It's gonna be another win."

Davis smiled. "Nice."

The camera panned over the crowd along the first base line, taking a brief look at the determinedly cheering Boston fans. A sports-caster was rambling on about statistics or something, but Davis suddenly leaned forward in the chair.

"Whoa, go back!"

"What?"

He pointed at the screen as the camera zoomed in on some guy with a red 'B' painted on his bare chest. "I think I recognised somebody."

"In that madhouse?" Carlos raised an eyebrow at his roommate. "Are you sure?"

"Kind of. I only saw him for a second."

"Well who was it?"

"It looked like Bosco." Davis frowned. "But it couldn't have been. The guy was in a Boston PD uniform."

"Bosco in Boston? Please! You're seeing things, Davis. Do you honestly think he'd be that desperate?"

"No… it probably wasn't really him," he said after a moment. "I bet he's halfway to California or something by now."

Carlos nodded, his attention already refocused. "Uh-huh. C'mon, Jeter!"

Davis studied the faces of the fans whenever the camera view was on the first base line. He could have sworn he'd seen Bosco standing along the edge of the stands. Maybe Carlos was right and he was seeing things. Why would Bosco choose Boston, of all places, anyway?

* * *

Her partner's elbow bumped her ribs. Deschaine looked at him, wondering what he wanted. There was a smirk on his face and he held up three fingers.

"Yeah, I know. They just scored again."

"It's in the bag, baby." He said. "And you said that Wakefield was good."

"Shut up."

"Look, they're bringing somebody out. Your pal Tim is done."

Deschaine peered into the outfield as the relief pitcher jogged toward the mound. "I wouldn't celebrate just yet. Pedro's coming in."

"Even better! You can just give me that twenty dollars now. I already know where we're gonna be eating tomorrow night."

"How about you wait until _after_ the game's over before making plans. It's not done just yet."

Bosco rocked back on his heels, all but hopping delightedly. "Close enough. It's the eighth inning."

"There's still hope," she told him, checking her watch. "Crap. We're due for another walk-around. You take the left side this time."

"Got it."

She started up the steps leading to the top of the field-side stands. Most people were more or less behaving themselves. There were only a few who were straying a little too far toward rowdiness, but that was expected. As long as they didn't start getting really out of hand it wasn't worth addressing. On the next set of steps, her partner was looking over the people standing and sitting with a casualness that made her wary. Either that was a cover for actual close scrutiny, or he was more interested in listening to the announcer's comments over the PA system. Reaching the top of the steps, Deschaine paused a moment to scan the sections on either side of her. Nobody seemed to be really out of line. Just a lot of people watching their favourite team. She started back down.

A sudden, concerted boo burst out from the fans and she looked around sharply. The announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, competing with the jeering fans for attention. _Whoa, the Sox are back at bat? That was fast._ She watched Trot Nixon lope toward first base, limping only slightly. Getting hit by a pitch couldn't be all that much fun. That brought Ortiz to the plate. Deschaine reached the bottom of the steps and headed left. A quick sweep of the concession area and she could be back at her post.

"Took you long enough."

"Somebody's gotta do the walk-around right," she answered. "Is Ortiz still up?"

"Full count."

There was a crack from down on the field and instantly everyone around them let out a unified roar. Nixon was sprinting for second as the hard-hit line drive bounced off the Green Monster. The Yankee centre fielder chased down the ball and gave it a good heave toward the infield. Nixon rounded third and lengthened his stride. Deschaine cheered and grabbed her partner in an impulsive hug, her momentum spinning them around. The air fairly crackled with excited cheers.

"It's just one run!" Bosco shouted over the din, pushing himself out of her grip.

"So what? We've had to listen to you go wild when they score!" She whistled but the sound was lost in the noise. "Can't take it, don't dish it out!"

"You're all damn crazy," he muttered, covering his ears.

* * *

Long lines of people inched toward the exits, disappointment and joy colouring the faces of different fans. Bosco stood next to his partner on the field itself, waiting for the after-game interviews to wrap up. As soon as the reporters got their fill and left, so could the cops. He wasn't in a big hurry though. With the three-to-one New York victory, he was content to bask in the disappointment of the other Boston officers. His team had won, he was twenty bucks richer, and his next two on-shift meals were free. What shouldn't he be happy about?

Deschaine stood quietly, her hands clasped behind her back, her expression studiously blank. After the myriad emotions that had been displayed on her face over the course of the night, he was a little uncomfortable with the mask of neutrality she was wearing. He could handle seeing someone happy or pissed as the mood took them, but not being able to see how a person was feeling put him on edge. If his partner was feeling as crappy as some of the other Boston fans must be, she wasn't showing it and that made him uneasy. Granted, they had only been paired up for a total of seven days, but he felt like they were still strangers to each other at times. One minute she was open and relaxed, the next, more tense than a violin string. What was wrong with people? Working with him couldn't be that nerve-wracking, could it? He did his best to get along with most everyone. It wasn't his fault if some people didn't like his attitude. No way was he going to change to please some no-account civilian who was mad because Bosco didn't kiss his ass. That crap wasn't for him.

So what was Deschaine's problem? She had been talkative enough before and during the game, but she hadn't said two words since they'd formed up near the now-closed concession stand. Nobody could be that moody. Maybe something was up that he didn't know about. These other cops would be far more likely to trust her than they would him and that was just fine. As long as nobody asked questions or mentioned his old job, he had no problems with them. His partner was another matter entirely. On a certain level, he _had_ to trust her. It was part of the whole partner-thing. That didn't mean he'd start telling her his life story, but he would at least let her think he felt that comfortable with her. The dubious skill of deception he had learned during his tenure with Anti-Crime would come in real handy for that. He thought about how betrayed Faith had looked when she confronted him about the 'dying declaration', then pushed the memory out of his mind. It wasn't like he was doing that crap here. He was just letting his new partner think that he really trusted her when he knew that he couldn't trust anyone.

_Yeah, that's great. You just go ahead and live a lie._ Bosco scowled to himself. He was determined to guard himself against further hurt. Nobody was going to get close enough to find out the reasons for his presence in this city. It wasn't about right or wrong anymore. It was about survival.

"Hey, Bosco. We're heading out. Are you interested in a burger or something?"

Bosco thought about his determination to remain detached. How far would he go to maintain the illusion of trust? "Not tonight. I'm gonna catch some sleep for tomorrow."

"Okay. Let's go, then."

As he climbed into the back of the police van, he realised that it wasn't about how far he was willing to go, but about how much he was going to let this unsuspecting woman trust him before his deception was revealed. Was it worth the risk?

He glanced quickly at her profile in the poor lighting of the van's interior. It only took a moment to make up his mind. Right or wrong, the decision was made and he was going to see it through.

No matter what.

* * *

Author's Note: Last update for awhile, I'm afraid. I'll be taking the holidays off to work on more chapters and spend some time with the few friends who haven't taken off for other states. ;-) But don't worry, I'll be back in January with some new stuff for your reading pleasure.

Have a merry Christmas and a splendid New Year, and here's hoping that the _Third Watch_ writers won't disappoint us when the season picks up again.

Cheers!

Lady Patriot


	8. Baby Steps

Happy 2005 everyone!

Bosco and Deschaine respond to a medic down call and Faith struggles to come to grips with her paralysis.

It's been… a few years since I've had the pleasure of visiting Boston, so the discussion that Bosco and Deschaine have about restaurants may not be totally accurate. Feel free to correct it if is.

* * *

"What's the most expensive place to eat around here?" Bosco asked, flipping through a tourist brochure.

"No way. I'm not payin' more than thirty bucks for food per shift. That's it."

"Oh come on. If I'm getting two free meals out of this, they might as well be worth it."

Deschaine shook her head. "Keep dreaming, Rip van Winkle. I don't get paid extra to feed my partner."

"Too bad. A deal's a deal."

"Pick someplace that won't make me empty out my wallet."

" 'Bertucci's Brick Oven Pizzeria," he read from the brochure. " 'Fine food in a relaxed atmosphere.' Sounds good."

"That's outside our sector."

"Next one. 'Aquitaine. Best French-style eatery this side of the Atlantic'. Ah, no. Can't even pronounce the name of the place. How about this? '33 Restaurant and Lounge. Excellent food and service.'"

She snorted a laugh. "Yeah, if you've got a couple hundred dollars to spend on dinner."

"What's so bad about that? It just means the place has class."

"The 33 Lounge is a little bit upscale. Black tie, I think it is."

"C'mon, we're both wearing ties."

"Does this look black to you?"

Bosco held up his hands. "Worth a try. Unless you want to go to 'Albany Sandwich Shop, Inc. Finest sandwiches in South Boston.'"

"That's so much bull. My parents' place has the best sandwiches."

"So that's where we're gonna end up eating for the next two shifts? Come on."

"All right! You want to get laughed at, that's fine by me. The 33 Lounge it is." Deschaine turned the cruiser onto East Berkeley Street. "I hope you realise that this is not just out of our sector, but out of the district."

"So?"

"Okay. I'll blame you if Sergeant Byrne throws a fit because we left the sector."

"Drive, would you? I'm hungry."

His partner shook her head. "Yes _sir._"

* * *

"Six Adam, Boston. We're out of service, Code Ten."

"Ten-four, Adam. Show you Code Ten out of service, 1933."

Deschaine used the rear-view mirror to check that her clip-on tie was straight. "Let's go," she said as she fitted her hat on. "You can go in first. This was your idea."

Bosco was already out on the sidewalk. She followed him to the softly-lit entrance of the well-reputed restaurant. A thin man wearing a black bowtie moved into view to block them from stepping beyond the waiting area.

"Do you have reservations for this evening?" The greeter asked.

"No."

"Then I'm sorry, but I cannot seat you without reservations. We are at capacity. If you'd care to make one for another evening, I will be more than happy to make sure your names are assigned a table."

Deschaine tried unsuccessfully to smother a grin. "I told you this was a waste of time. Have you embarrassed yourself enough yet? I wouldn't mind getting something to eat that won't cost me three weeks' pay."

The greeter shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry you have such financial limitations. If you don't mind, please show yourselves out. This is a dining establishment, not a rest stop."

"No kidding? Looks like plenty of folks are just hanging out." Deschaine commented. "Are there open tables for tomorrow evening, by any chance?"

"I beg your pardon, but did you not just say that our services exceeded your budget?"

"Isn't that up to me to decide for certain?"

Bosco shrugged as if the whole venture was nothing more than a lark. "Maybe you're right, Deschaine. This isn't worth it. Let's go someplace else."

"Boston, Six Adam. Be advised, Adam Six-One is requesting immediate police assistance to 1209 Malden Street. Man with a knife. Medic down. Boy Six-One en route."

"Six Adam, ten-four. 1209 Malden." Deschaine drew startled gazes her way when she snapped, "Go, go, go!" She ignored the staring diners as she sprinted out onto the sidewalk.

"So much for getting dinner, huh?"

"Maybe later," she answered, pushing the gas pedal down the instant she shifted out of Park. The cruiser leaped forward, eager to go. Blue and white lights on the roof flashed in blinding strobe-mode and the piercing wail of the siren was a loud signal for other drivers to pull over, and fast.

"It's gonna take us for ever to get there. I knew we shouldn't have left the sector."

"Like we were supposed to know that a paramedic was gonna get stabbed."

"Doesn't matter. The whole sector was uncovered. Move it or lose it, jackass," she snapped, reaching down to blast the air horn at an economy car in front of them.

"Clear on the right." Bosco called out as the cruiser sped across an intersection.

"We're at least three minutes out from this call. I can't believe this."

A short-tempered driver laid on his horn, stopping short to let the cruiser pass without causing an accident.

"Shut it, Gramps," Bosco muttered.

Deschaine glanced quickly left, checking to be sure there wasn't any traffic coming. "Clear?"

"Nothin' coming."

"Two minutes, at least. Too long." She pulled the mike from its metal clip on the radio console. "Six Adam, Boston. We are en route but our ETA is two minutes. Request a closer unit to respond."

"Ten-four, Adam. Six Boy what's your ETA to the scene?"

"One minute, Boston."

"What's the point, then?" His partner pushed down more on the gas. "We'll get there almost at the same time."

"At the rate we're going, we'll be there first."

The cruiser screeched around the corner onto Albany Street. "Thirty seconds and we will be."

"Thirty seconds?" Bosco repeated, tightening his seatbelt.

She unfastened the strap on her holster. "Maybe more like forty-five."

Red, white, and amber lights lit up the street that the cruiser turned onto. Adam Six-One was parked in front of a residence, its rear doors open. The first thing Bosco noticed as his partner brought the vehicle to sharp stop and threw it into Park was a paramedic sprawled face-up on the pavement. The other one was nowhere in sight.

"Drop the knife!" Deschaine barked, already out of the cruiser with her gun drawn. Bosco was out in a flash. The beefy man wielding a kitchen knife glared daggers at the two officers, baring his teeth in a feral grin.

"Great, we got ourselves a psycho."

"Is this guy a wannabe Norman Bates?" His partner muttered under her breath as she stepped away from the protective cover of the open driver's door. "Drop the knife!"

The man let out a purely animal roar, stepping over the medic's motionless body. The bloody knife in his hand swung up in readiness for its next victim.

"Drop the knife! This is your last warning!"

"He's not listening," Bosco said. Deschaine was too far from the cruiser to be able to duck for cover behind it and the knife-wielding psycho was starting to charge. "Drop it!" He yelled, balancing his elbow on the edge of the windshield. The warning was utterly pointless and he knew that. Deschaine seemed to sense that the distance between her and Psycho was too close and she started to back up.

"Don't shoot!" His partner's shout came a split second too late. Bosco's finger had already applied too much pressure on the trigger. The gunshot reverberated up and down the street, drowned out by the sirens of other emergency vehicles arriving on the scene. Psycho was down, hit in the chest. Deschaine's weapon was back in its holster and she was on her knees next to the hulk on the pavement.

"I need a medic here!"

One of the paramedics from the second ambulance dashed over with his bag while his partner went to work on the injured medic. "Is there an exit wound?"

"I don't know, haven't looked yet." She answered. "He's been down for less than a minute. I can't tell if he's lost his left lung or not. His breathing is too shallow."

"Here," the medic said, tossing her a pair of gloves. "On three. One, two, three."

The two of them rolled Psycho onto his side and the medic cut away the guy's shirt. "Exit wound on the left side, mid-chest level. Backboard now!"

"Bosco!"

He realised that he was still standing by the cruiser with his gun in his hands. Embarrassed, he holstered the weapon and hustled to the second bus to grab the backboard.

"Roll back on three. One, two, three."

"What the hell were you doing?" Deschaine demanded. "I told you not to shoot."

"Half a second before I pulled the trigger. How was I supposed to stop the bullet? Jump in front of it?"

"Hold this," the medic snapped, shoving an IV bag into Bosco's hands. "Tony! I got a scoop and run here, I'm gone."

"Help over here!" Deschaine called and two cops came to lend a hand lifting the backboard.

"You, Trigger-happy. Drive." The paramedic said. "Deschaine, hold this up for me. I gotta start another line."

"Do it."

"You're right, decreased breath sounds on the left. Let's get him out of here."

The stretcher with Psycho on it was lifted into the back of the bus. Bosco pulled himself up into the driver's seat as Deschaine and the paramedic climbed in the back.

"Go, Bosco."

_All this effort for a whackjob who stabbed a paramedic. What a waste._ Bosco flicked on the siren and stepped on the gas.

"Boy Six-One to MedCom. Inbound to Boston Medical with a male gunshot victim, approximately thirty years of age, possibly mentally ill. ETA to hospital two minutes. Request permission to inject five milligrams of morphine."

"Permission granted, Boy Six-One. You're clear to proceed to Boston Medical. Time out, 1955."

The hospital was visible over the other buildings as Bosco guided the ambulance down Albany Street. Was it really almost eight o'clock? It seemed a lot earlier. He killed the siren as he brought the rig to a stop under the covered ambulance entrance and bounded out to open the rear doors. A swarm of nurses were on hand to help pull the stretcher out. Bosco stood back out of the way.

"Through and through gunshot wound to the left chest. Two lines wide open, five migs of morphine on board, BP one-ten over sixty and falling. Shot by police and in custody." The paramedic rattled off more medical stuff that Bosco didn't understand.

"Trauma Two," a doctor said, taking the IV bag from Deschaine.

"Bosco, come here."

"Yeah, I know. Give up my gun and wait for the detectives to show up."

"No, you idiot." His partner peeled off her gloves, grabbed his jacket sleeve, and dragged him toward the nurses' lounge. "What the hell was that all about? I told you not to shoot."

"Not soon enough. How was I supposed to know to hold my fire when you didn't bother to yell it out until you were two seconds away from gettin' stabbed?"

"You didn't know that was his intention."

Bosco scoffed. "Not his intention? The guy had a knife that he had already used to slice up a paramedic and he was coming your way like a runaway freight train, ready for a repeat performance. That sure as hell seems like intention to me."

"There are other ways to disarm a mentally ill suspect without having to shoot him, Bosco."

"Name _one._"

"Pepper spray."

"So you get him really pissed _and_ holding a knife. Good plan."

Deschaine's fists clenched. "That's not the point. This is the second person you've shot in the space of a week. How long have you been here? A little over seven days? The IA detectives will have a field day with that."

"Great. Perfect. Just what I need."

"Believe it or not, but shooting somebody is supposed to be the last resort."

"No kidding? I didn't see you trying to talk him down or anything before I dropped him."

"Gun." She held out her hand. With a scowl, Bosco pulled the weapon from its holster, slapped it into her waiting palm, and stormed from the lounge. What the hell kind of crap was she trying to sell him? She'd actually started walking _toward_ Psycho before he charged like a mad bull. That itself had to be some kind of crazy. Then for her to spout off about him not holding his fire… what was up with her lately, anyway? She had been a little touchy all shift. Well, whatever it was probably wasn't his fault. He'd done his best to keep his crowing about the Yankees victory to a minimum, except to remind her a few times about their deal. If that was enough to tick her off, it was a wonder she managed to put up with people far more irritating out on the street.

Bosco discovered a soda machine in the waiting area and fished a couple quarters from his pocket. A quick jolt of caffeine would be great. He sat down in one of the plastic chairs, stretching his legs out. His partner appeared from the lounge and headed for the doors leading outside. She didn't bother looking his way and he didn't care. Whatever she was up to was no concern of his.

His plan to keep distance between them was certainly working so far. The only thing that was working out, anyway. She had been right when she called him on his readiness to pull the trigger. Maybe he was so eager to prove himself to this department that he was acting like a brash young rookie all over again. That would have to stop. Getting himself into trouble with Internal Affairs for anything could very well mean the end of his career, period. Those bastards dug up _everything_ they could on a cop. There was little doubt that they would be in contact with IAB in New York and then he'd be in real hot water.

Okay. So his two main objectives were to keep Deschaine from being too nosy and to stay out of trouble. Right. That would real easy. Bosco took a long swallow of his Pepsi and shook his head. The only problem was that he and trouble were old, old friends. Yeah, right, this was gonna be _real_ easy.

He got to his feet, a sudden flicker of curiosity tickling the back of his mind. Why hadn't _she_ shot Psycho when he was seconds away from striking distance? Instead of forcing him to put a bullet in the guy, why hadn't she done it? His memory rewound to the game detail she had volunteered him for and her uncharacteristic silence after it was over. What was with his partner, anyway?

"Deschaine."

She was talking to one of the other cops who had driven their cruiser to the hospital for them. At Bosco's approach, the conversation trailed off and the other two officers moved toward the hospital doors.

"What was that about?"

"Detectives are on their way. Nate was just over at the scene to get our car. They'll be about twenty minutes or so."

"Why didn't you do it?"

Deschaine stopped, halfway into the cruiser. "Do what?"

"Shoot the guy. Why didn't you do it?"

"I don't shoot unless I have to."

Bosco bounced his open palm off the car's roof and pinched his index and middle fingers together to emphasise his words. "He was this close to stickin' that knife into you, and you weren't going to do anything to stop him?"

"How close were you really looking, Bosco? Did you see the pepper spray I pulled off my belt?"

No, actually he hadn't. He hadn't bothered to look to see if she was doing anything other than back up. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"If you had bothered to wait for a second longer, we wouldn't even be here, waiting for the detectives to show up to figure out whether or not this was a good shoot." Deschaine answered hotly. "You weren't watching this guy's eyes. I was. He didn't see a cop in front of him, he saw the gun. Even he understood it was a threat and he wanted the threat to stop. He never took his eyes off it. I had to let him get close to give him a good blast of OC spray. My gun was the bait and he took it."

"How was I supposed to know that? All I saw was a nutjob with a big old kitchen knife drippin' with that paramedic's blood."

"Yeah, I figured that. There's your problem. You looked at the situation and _assumed_ that the only way to resolve it was to jump straight to deadly force."

"No, that's crap. What I saw was some psycho about to stab my partner."

"Next time try waiting a couple heartbeats before pulling the trigger!"

"Next time try letting me know not to!"

His partner nodded reluctantly. "Point taken. You should at least make an effort to be sure that using your gun is the best solution." She pocketed the keys and locked the doors. "This isn't New York, Bosco. We play by different rules here."

"Nobody's bothered to tell me what those rules are."

She chewed on her lower lip for a second. "All right. We're on the four-to-twelve again tomorrow. If you can make through the rest of this shift without anymore trouble, meet me outside the house after signing your radio back in."

"What for?"

"You want to know the rules so this crap doesn't happen again, right? I might as well help you learn 'em."

"Out front after shift?"

"Yeah."

Bosco nodded. "I'll be there."

Deschaine managed a half-grin before heading back into the brightly-lit hospital. He looked down at his boots for a second, thinking about what she'd said. She had a point. He hadn't really looked to be sure that the situation was what it appeared to be. Damn, she was sharp. Bosco wasn't sure he would have been able to see Psycho eyeing his gun, realise that the weapon was drawing him closer, and decide to use it as bait to keep him distracted – all in the space of five, maybe six seconds, tops. Verbal commands were utterly useless and short of shooting him – which Bosco had ultimately done – Deschaine had come up with a way to subdue Psycho quickly.

She was long out of sight inside the building and he figured it was a good idea to follow. There was a lot to learn if he wanted to stay here. He paused just inside the automatic doors, looking around for his partner. She had taken a seat next to a battered coffee table covered with dog-eared, year-old magazines.

"Hey, what was your deal last night at the game?"

"What deal?"

Bosco took the chair on the other side of the table. "You didn't say more than four words after the last inning."

"Oh that."

"Yeah, that. Was it something I said?"

Deschaine skimmed through an outdated issue of _Time_ magazine. "Not really. I just wasn't all that interested in hearing you gloat."

"That's all?"

"Pretty much. You were borderline obnoxious all night and it wasn't worth it to me to put up with that after the game was over."

He started to say something to rebut her comment, then thought back to his conduct and realised with a twinge of embarrassment that he _had_ been a little over-enthusiastic. He'd gotten so caught up in the game that he missed his partner's growing irritation with him. Tunnel vision at its best and worst.

"Listen, um, about what I said back in the lounge. It was a little bit out of line. Sorry."

"You mean how you said I should take a closer look at situations before doing something stupid? You were right, I guess. I don't usually take that extra second or two to really assess what's going on." Bosco said after a second's thought. "You probably had everything under control and I just didn't bother to look to see that."

Deschaine shook her head. "I mean the IA detectives bit. That was just stupid."

"Maybe a little."

"Yeah, a little. You did all right out there, considering how you thought the whole thing was goin' down. I probably would've done the same thing."

"Really? You're Miss Step-Back-And-Think-First, I thought."

She smiled slightly. "I tend not to think too long when my partner's gonna be on the receiving end of somebody's knife or gun."

"I know what you mean. There's not any time to think then. It's react, and react fast," Bosco agreed. "You really think I did okay shooting that guy?"

"Yeah. I didn't tell you to hold your fire so you didn't know that I was ready to take the guy down myself. I messed up and you did what you were trained to do. It could have ended up a lot worse."

"Deschaine, Boscorelli."

"Detectives here, Lieu?"

The lieutenant nodded. "They'll be in the nurses' lounge in just a minute. They're talking to the paramedic who got stabbed."

"How's he doing?"

"He'll pull through. The knife caught him in the upper right chest but missed anything vital."

"That's good to hear. What about the other guy?"

"Not so good. Last I heard he was still in surgery." The lieutenant replied. "Why don't you wait in the lounge, Boscorelli? The detectives will be ready for you in a minute. Deschaine, you took his gun, right?"

"Yes sir, right here." Deschaine handed over the unloaded weapon, then its magazine. The lieutenant tucked each item into a separate pocket of his jacket.

"Good. Hang out awhile, they'll want to talk to you too."

"Yes sir."

Bosco grimaced as the watch commander walked toward the nurses' station. "I hate detectives."

"Don't sweat it, Bosco. Tell 'em what went down and it'll be over before you know it." Deschaine touched his shoulder reassuringly as she stood up. "Better get to the lounge. I'll wait out here for you."

"Thanks."

* * *

"Mommy, when's Uncle B gonna come visit?"

Faith froze, her forkful of chicken halfway to her mouth. She felt three pairs of eyes on her in the silence after Charlie's innocent question. Over a week had passed since she had been shot and she had no answer to that question for herself, let alone for her young son. Fred met her gaze and swallowed the chunk of chicken he had been chewing. Even he was waiting to hear what she would say.

"I don't know," she answered at length. "He's gone away for awhile."

"When's he coming back?"

"Not for awhile. He went on vacation." She hated like hell to lie, but the truth was far too complicated. It was hard enough for her to handle. Charlie wouldn't understand at all.

The boy smiled. "I bet he went someplace warm like Florida. Will he bring us anything cool when he gets back?"

"Time for bed," Fred announced, rising from his chair. "C'mon, that means both of you."

"Aww, Dad!" Charlie protested even as he padded toward his room with his sister right behind.

"Move it, rug-rat. Don't forget to brush your teeth."

Faith cradled her head in her hands, suddenly bone-weary. "I hate this. How am I supposed to tell Charlie that his 'Uncle B' isn't comin' back? He's too young to understand any of this."

"Nothing works better than the truth." Fred told her as he piled half-empty plates up to take them to the sink. "He'll probably figure it out himself sooner or later."

"I'm kind of afraid of that. Then I end up looking like a bad mother for lying to him."

"You'll end up looking bad either way, but he would respect you more if you just told him what you did."

"What I did. Thanks, Fred. That just makes me feel so much better." She unlocked the wheels of her chair and gave them a sharp push backwards, stopping the right wheel to spin the chair away from the table. "I'm going to bed."

"Faith," he began futilely as she wheeled herself to the bedroom. "Do you need help getting out of the chair?"

"No!"

She heard silverware clatter noisily in the sink and knew he was frustrated. The evening had started out so well, too. Emily and Charlie had helped out with dinner after doing their homework. Things were running so smoothly that she didn't have to lift a finger to help. _As much help as I would be, anyway._ She should have expected Charlie to ask after Bosco at some point. He all but worshipped her partner. Fred was right. Sooner or later, Charlie would figure out that Bosco was gone for good and he'd look at her for the reason why. Would she be able to tell him that reason?

Faith stopped the chair on her side of the bed and locked the wheels. This never got any easier. She heaved herself up onto the mattress, grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread for support. Her legs dangled uselessly as she hauled herself out of the chair. To be reduced to this… She gritted her teeth and pushed the self-pitying thought from her head. Her only concern was getting onto the bed without falling to the floor. The chair slid backward a quarter of an inch at the shift of her weight, but it was enough to disrupt her fragile balance. Her legs slipped from the chair to hit the floor. They were sheer dead weight and she felt her grip on the bedspread slipping. No, no, _no!_ She wasn't going to give up now. She was halfway there. All she needed was a good heave and it would be over. _Pull!_ Faith dug her fingers into the bedspread and pulled.

"Dammit!" The mild oath came out louder than she had wanted it to as the whole bedspread slid over the bed toward her when she tried to use it as an anchor. She couldn't feel her legs under her, but she certainly felt it when her left elbow smacked off the floor.

"Faith!" Fred bounded in, a dishrag over one shoulder. "What happened?"

"The damn bedspread slipped. I almost made it." Frustrated tears dripped over her cheeks, her voice falling to a mere whisper. "I almost made it."

Fred pushed the wheelchair out of the way and bent to lift her off the floor. It was maddening to her that she would need help to get into her own bed but there was no escaping the reality that she did.

"I can't live like this, Fred. I can't, I can't be a cripple for the rest of my life."

"Ssh. Stop it. You're going to walk again," he said soothingly, tugging the sheet and blanket out from underneath her. "Just believe a little bit."

She remained silent, staring off at the wall. Fred kissed her forehead and returned to the kitchen after making sure her wheelchair was close to the bed in case she needed it. He didn't know that what she needed was to wake up from this nightmare. That was all this was. A really bad, really vivid nightmare. Faith closed her eyes, hoping and praying that it would all be over when she opened them.

The bedroom looked the same. The pictures on the walls hung where they always had and there was the same clutter of assorted junk on the dresser in the corner. She reached down to pinch her leg but felt nothing. The sad realisation that she was indeed reduced to the use of half her body broke down her last faltering shred of hope and she used the pillow to hide her tears.

* * *

She watched her breath form intricate patterns in the crisp night air, dissipating and reforming with each exhale. There was not enough breeze to put a noticeable bite in the weather but she felt the familiar kiss of cold on her cheeks and nose. Before too many more months passed there would hopefully be some snow. The white powdery stuff allowed for excellent fun when the temperature was just right. More than once during the winter, planned snowball fights broke out between off-duty cops at Boston Common.

Feeling a tickle of playfulness despite being by herself outside the station house, Deschaine blew out a long breath and traced her finger through the swirls of mist. Sometimes she found childish little things like that amusing. Sometimes, it was those childish little things that got her to laugh after an otherwise cheerless and depressing day. Stupid things like watching her cat try to attack its reflection in the bathroom mirror had the power to break her from a crappy mood.

"Why's it have to be so cold out?"

Then there was always listening to her partner complain about the cold. Deschaine looked up at the cloudless sky. "There's no cloud cover tonight so all the heat goes right out into space."

"What are you, a meteorologist now?"

"Sometimes. Come on. I could go for some coffee right about now."

Bosco tugged his wool beanie down over his ears and followed her across the street. "Separate vehicles or what?"

"You can if you want. It doesn't make all that much difference to me."

"Separate vehicles, then," he said. "Let me guess. We're heading for your parents' diner?"

Deschaine nodded. "You catch on quick. Hurry up, they close at midnight."

"This better be worth it." Her partner muttered as he crossed the street to where he had parked his car. Deschaine only grinned. If he used his sense of humour more often, he'd probably find life here a lot more bearable.

* * *

"First things first," she said after the waitress set down two steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. "Lose your attitude. It may have worked for you back in New York, but it's only gonna piss people off here. Most notably, me."

"My attitude is just fine."

"No, it's not. It's great in certain situations, but being an out-and-out jerk won't fly. A little bit of sensibility won't kill you."

"I'll work on it," he said grudgingly.

"I'll do my best to help out. I didn't have the best temperament when I started either."

"That's hard to believe."

"Believe it. It took awhile to learn not to be a total ass." Deschaine told him.

"Is that it? Just my attitude?"

"No. You might want to work on your situation assessment skills. I'm sure they're fine, but you need to hone them a bit. Knife Guy earlier is a good example."

"I thought you said it was a good shoot."

"It was, but I also said it could have been avoided. Taking a couple extra seconds to look at everything saves a lot of headaches and paperwork later. Water under the bridge, anyway."

Bosco took a drink of his coffee and winced as the liquid scalded his tongue. "I feel like I'm back in kindergarten, being taught the alphabet."

"We're not that much different from the NYPD, when it comes down to it. A lot smaller with a slightly more relaxed outlook, maybe, but really not all that different."

"What's the big deal, then? If this department is so similar, why do I have to re-learn how to be a cop?"

"The biggest difference is the public here. They expect courtesy and respect from their police department. Pushy hard-asses don't last too long on the street."

"So I'm supposed to kiss everyone's ass to survive here? No way."

"I didn't say you had to be completely subservient. You _do_ have to be a little bit more flexible than you're probably used to. It sucks sometimes, but it's what people want from us."

"Is there some big secret to how you keep from going crazy or what?" He asked.

"The trick is how you approach it."

"Really."

"Uh-huh. That's the difference between how you do The Job and how we do The Job. You go at it like you got an axe to grind – and maybe you do – but that's probably how you were trained."

Bosco took another drink from his coffee mug "So how do you guys do it?"

"Slow and easy," she answered. "We're not out to rough up Joe Average citizen just because he might look at us cross-eyed. Most of us don't get wound unless we have to. It's bad for business."

"Business. Never thought of it that way."

"You should try it. Makes the whole job make more sense."

"Is that even possible?"

"I guess. It's got have some reason, or else nobody would want to be a cop."

"True." Bosco said. "I guess I need lessons in how to be a Boston cop."

She laughed. "It's hard to retrain somebody who's already trained and experienced in another method of policing. Reinventing the wheel it's not, but it won't be easy by any means. Are you prepared to have some illusions shattered?"

"Try me."

"Okay. When you show up for shift tomorrow, I expect to see a clean and pressed uniform and spit-shined leather belt and gear. Clean your gun, shine your badge, buff your boots. Appearances are important, so it's best to make a good one."

"That's a lot to do before shift."

"I do it every day."

Bosco frowned. "I have to get up earlier, don't I?"

"Yeah. Don't go to bed too late and it won't be much of a problem."

"I have a feeling I'm not gonna like this new stuff all that much."

Deschaine grinned. "You agreed to it, Bosco. Like it or not, you're stuck."

"Crap." He grinned back to show he wasn't serious. What she was asking wasn't so tough, really. All he had to do was slap some polish on his leather gear and make sure there wasn't any dirt or excess grease in his gun. Piece of cake.

"If you come in looking like you're ready for a formal inspection, I might even consider picking up the tab for a third on-shift meal."

"I'll have to make sure that everything's in order. Three free meals is too good an opportunity to pass up."

* * *

"Woo-hoo, somebody's dressed up for a parade!" Bill Tessier called out from his locker when Deschaine entered, her duffel bag over one shoulder.

"I'm only showin' our favourite New Yorker how this rig is supposed to look."

"Damn. Do you do this often?"

"Once a day, as it happens, Billy. You should try it, you might have a better chance at getting that girl you've been after. How long have you been trying to get a date from her?"

"Six months. She likes me."

Deschaine pulled her gunbelt on. "I bet she does. That's probably why she has managed to give you the slip for the better part of six months."

"I'm gettin' closer."

"I look," Bosco came into the locker room, an uncomfortable expression pinching his face, "like a walking mirror."

"You look like you've just won a free meal," his partner countered as she walked around him in a slow circle. The black leather belt and the equipment hanging from it gleamed in the locker room's fluorescent lighting. His shirt and trousers were sharply creased and she was mildly pleased to note that he had given his boots a fresh coat of polish. Even the shield on his hat had received a good shine. "Yup, it does. What do you think, Tessier?"

"Hell, Deschaine, I'd pay him to clean up my rig that well."

"There, you pass the inspection."

Bosco's eyebrows went up. "That's it?"

"That's it. Tessier over there is our unofficial uniform inspector. If he says it's good, it's good."

The other cop lifted a hand and grinned. "Ten points for the new guy on his first attempt. Shoots and scores!"

"Don't stand there, Bosco. We're due in roll call in ten minutes." Deschaine told her partner, shaking her head when he moved toward his locker. If he could show up to every shift like that, he'd be well on his way to fitting in.


	9. Instability

Long chapter.

Deschaine and Bosco talk a little, Davis, Sully, and Faith make an appearance, and Deschaine travels to New York for her brother's graduation. That last couple of scenes are something of a character-study for her.And there's a surprise guest-star. Read on to find out who.

* * *

"My brother graduates from the NYPA tomorrow. We're all going down to be at the ceremony."

Bosco nodded, pulling on his gunbelt. "It's a big thing, graduating from there."

"Yeah." Deschaine folded her collar down over the clip-on tie. "You want to come with us? It'll be a good break."

"No," he replied, a little too quickly. "No, I'll take a pass. Thanks, though."

She shrugged, choosing to let the vehemence in his voice pass without comment. "Okay. He finds out what precinct he's assigned to, as well. He's hoping it's the one he wants, but who can tell?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go, folks." The duty sergeant called into the locker room.

"You all right?"

"Fine." Bosco answered as he shut his locker. "C'mon. We're gonna be late."

"Right.".

"I'm glad you felt ready to join us, Deschaine," Lieutenant Coulter said. "Now maybe we can get started."

Deschaine forced a grin and promptly tuned the lieutenant out. It was the standard pre-shift spiel. Patrol assignments were the same, there wasn't anything in particular they needed to look out for, have a nice night, get out there and do your jobs. Blah, blah, blah. She stood up with the rest of the officers and joined the line filing through the door.

"Hey, what's up?"

"You've asked me that already."

Bosco looked slightly uncertain. "You're kinda quiet so I wondered if everything was all right."

"I'm just tired," she lied, taking the radio from the cop working the cage. "There was a movie on last night that I stayed up to watch."

"Okay." He wisely left it at that as they carried out a brief cruiser inspection. Deschaine was grateful for his silence. Her headache was bad enough without the irritation of useless chatter. It figured that she would be out of aspirin, too. She'd have to stop somewhere and get a bottle. The percussion-only orchestra that was marching around her head had to be silenced as soon as possible. Her skull felt like it wanted to fall to pieces. Ugh, bad headaches sucked.

She pointed the cruiser toward Massachusetts Avenue and tried to remember where the closest pharmacy was. The constant pounding in her head was due mostly to the sudden attention that Patrick Harris was giving to her. Each night for the past three days he had been outside her apartment buildning, waiting for her. He only wanted to talk, or so he claimed. Harris wasn't much for talking if he thought he could get a free night's pleasure from someone. Didn't he understand that she could not stand him? Ever since the debriefing after her partner had fired his gun, Harris had been at pains to be civil to her, which only set off the first of several red flags. The guy usually didn't put that much effort into somebody who continually spurned his pathetic advances. This was a little different, though. She was growing more alarmed by his behaviour every time she saw him staring at her. After shift, she planned to speak to his supervisor about it. It had to stop.

"You're sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Life's great."

Bosco caught her eye, his expression unconvinced. "You haven't said a word since we left the station."

_What's there to say?_ "I told you I was tired."

"Anything you wanna talk about?"

"I didn't know there was anything that we should talk about."

"Hey, I only asked. No need to bite my head off."

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her irritably was a direct result of her growing exhaustion and taking out her frustration on her partner would solve nothing. "Sorry. I've just been having trouble sleeping. Hopefully it'll get better before long."

"Anything I can do to help?"

_Not unless you can make an annoying detective just disappear._ "No. I'll be fine. You're sure you don't want to come to New York with us?"

"Positive."

"Suit yourself." Deschaine shrugged. Whatever ghosts were dogging him had fallen down a notch or two on her priority list. If he didn't want to go back to New York, even for a visit, that was his choice. She needed to get out of the city for a day and this was the perfect chance to do it.

* * *

Davis zipped up his jacket as he stepped onto the sidewalk, half a stride ahead of Sully. A brisk wind whistled down the street, stinging his cheeks and ears. He drew in a breath and wished for a moment that it would just hurry up and be winter already. It was only early September but it sure felt like December.

"Come on, I'm not in a hurry to stand out here all night," Sully called out from the RMP.

"Just enjoying this great weather."

Sully snorted. "Great for the North Pole, maybe."

Davis only smiled and settled into the passenger's seat. His partner always got a little grumpy when it was cold. "Catch the game last night?"

"You mean when the Yanks wiped the field with the Marlins? Wouldn't have missed it." Sully replied.

"Yeah, that was a slaughter. Jeter's on fire."

"They've played a good season. I can't wait for October."

The RMP cruised along with traffic down Second Avenue. Davis thought back to the New York-Boston game from the week before. He couldn't shake the feeling it had really been Bosco standing there in the stands. But why would he be there, of all places?

"Hey, Sul, do you remember the game from last week? When New York played Boston at Fenway?"

"Yeah. A little bit. Why?"

"I think I saw Bosco there. It was only for a second but I could have sworn he was standing along the first base line, watching the game."

"Bosco at Fenway Park? What are the odds of that? Come on, Davis. I find it hard to believe he'd pack up and disappear, leaving behind a good job and career here, and head for Massachusetts. You were seein' things."

The younger officer glanced out the window before speaking. He had expected that sort of response. "Carlos said that too. I don't know, maybe I was. But the guy looked just like him."

"Maybe he did, but that doesn't mean it's really Bosco." Sully told him and changed the subject after a moment's silence. "We're getting a couple rookies in tomorrow. Fresh from the Academy."

"Cool, I guess."

"We need the people. With Yokas out on medical and Bosco gone off to God-knows-where, we're a little shorthanded."

"Is that why they pulled O'Shea back from retirement?"

Sully grinned ruefully. "Yup. He thought he was done with this job, but One PP called him up and said he had to come back. Poor guy just can't catch a break."

"That's rough."

"That's the way it goes. It's easier to recall retired cops than it is to train enough new ones. So Andrew O'Shea's back on the foot beat at forty-six years old because all the younger guys don't want to leave their nice warm RMPs."

"Is that a hint?"

"Oh, no. I'd hate to suggest you get out there on foot post and catch a cold or something."

Davis laughed. "Yeah, that would be awful."

* * *

"Can you try to wiggle your right foot for me?"

Faith closed her eyes and willed the limb to move. "It's moving, right?" She asked hopefully.

The doctor sighed quietly. "No, but that's not a surprise. It's still too soon to expect any sort of motor ability to return."

"I can't live like this."

"I understand that, Officer, but there's nothing we can do medically. As you know, the paralysis is only temporary. You should expect improvements within a few months."

"A few _months_? You mean I have to get pushed around in this damn chair for that long? No way."

"I'm sorry, but without even partial use of your legs, it's your only means of getting around."

Fred laid his hand on her shoulder. "How soon can she start seeing a therapist?"

"Right away, if she wants. I can give you the name and number of a very good physical therapist who contracts with the hospital if you like."

"That'd be great, thanks."

"I'll just be a moment," the doctor told them, walking quickly into the hallway.

"I don't want to be stuck in this chair. I want to get around under my own power," Faith said. "I didn't ask for this."

"I know you didn't." Fred kissed the top of her head. "You're going to get better."

The doctor re-entered the room. "Here's a card with her office number. I have to get back to my rounds but I wish you luck."

"Thank you."

* * *

His partner was stonily silent as she unloaded her gun and slid the weapon into her duffel bag. She had been like that all shift and nothing he said had done anything to open her up. It was frustrating to not know what was bothering his partner when it was glaringly obvious that something was. Something big. She looked like hell. Had she been sleeping at all? Whatever. She didn't want to tell him about it, so what did he care?

"See you on Friday, Deschaine," one of the other cops said as she headed for the door. "Tell your brother congrats for me."

"Sure thing, Billy. As soon as he gets his first day off, he's gonna come up to show off his new suit."

Bill Tessier flashed a thumbs-up. "Works for me. I still think he'd look better in one of our uniforms, but if he wants to be NYPD blue, more power to him, right?"

The officers still getting changed shared a chuckle. Deschaine grinned, pushing open the locker room door. "Right. Bye guys."

Bosco said nothing and didn't look up when he felt her gaze on his back. He had nothing at all to say to her. The door clicked shut and she was gone. Good. He hung up his uniform shirt. Time for him to go, too. Two days off, without her annoying refusal to talk about whatever was bothering her, were going to be a welcome respite.

"Bosco."

He stiffened, not even halfway out the front door. What was she still doing here? It didn't matter. He was going home. She could talk to his back all she wanted because he wasn't going to stop walking.

"Hey, hold up."

_Not a chance, Deschaine._ Bosco thought, sidestepping around her. Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm, jerking him to an abrupt halt.

"Stop."

For a fleeting second, he was intimidated by the anger that flashed across her face. The second was over before he could miss it. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want to apologise for how I acted during shift. I'm not usually that snappish."

"I dealt with it."

"That's not how it's supposed to work and I think you know it. I brought my personal life to work with me and I'm sorry. Usually I know better."

Bosco shrugged. "That stuff happens."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want for it to be a raincloud over my head all day."

"Is it anything you want to talk about?"

She hesitated for a long moment before replying. "When I come back, I'll be ready to, I think. I need to try to sort it out myself, first."

"Okay. Have a good time in New York, then?" He was surprised to find that his anger at her was gone. Her reasons for keeping silent about this problem were probably very good ones. "See you a couple days, Deschaine."

Deschaine actually smiled, but the gesture only deepened the shadows under her eyes.. "Good. Enjoy your days off."

* * *

"Look, there's Matthew." Her mother pointed at a brawny recruit standing with a group of class-mates near the front doors.

"He almost looks good in that rig," Deschaine said, adjusting her hat over her painstakingly braided hair. "My jacket's not wrinkled, is it? I had it dry cleaned yesterday."

"It's fine, dear."

She tugged on the hem, settling the dark blue jacket over her shoulders. "I feel like the so-called sore thumb."

"Quit worrying, Sarah. Your uniform's fine."

"Right."

"Are you finished bellyaching about your appearance?" Her father asked. "It's almost time."

"Yeah, I'm done." Deschaine sucked in a steadying breath, amused that she was so nervous. It wasn't even her graduation. "You two first."

"Matthew!"

Her brother looked around the crowd for whoever was calling for him, then saw his parents on the edge of the sidewalk. A huge grin burst onto his face and he pushed his way through the crush of the people. "About time you guys showed up. We're almost ready to start."

"You know how they are about being 'on-time'."

"Whoa! Somebody's dressed up!"

Deschaine grinned. "Can't let you be the only one with a blue suit. Would it be taboo to be seen hugging a Boston cop in uniform or are you just standing 'cause you have nothing better to do?"

"Good to see you too, Tweedle-Dee." Matt said, drawing his sister into a hug. "C'mon, the better seats go fast and I want to show you off."

"Wonderful," she followed him through the milling clusters of recruits and families. "I always enjoyed being a trophy for you, Tweedle-Dumb."

"Yo, guys, I want you to meet my sister."

"Big day, huh?"

The four recruits stared at her. Or at her uniform, to be precise. Matt shook his head and carried on the introductions.

"Jamie O'Shea, Ricky Gates, Scott Cole, Johnny Foley. This is my sister, Sarah."

None of them said anything. Deschaine straightened her back, elbowing her brother. "Talkative bunch, aren't they?"

"I think this might be the first time they've seen somebody not wearing an NYPD uniform since we came here."

"That's enough reason to forget basic manners?" She asked, hiding her amused smile. "Etiquette was the first thing drilled into us at the BPA."

One of the other recruits swallowed and seemed to come out of his daze. "Um, I'm Jamie O'Shea."

"Pleasure, Officer," she said, shaking his hand. "Sarah Deschaine."

Jamie seemed surprised to be addressed as 'Officer'. "Uh, yeah."

A hefty officer with lieutenant's bars on his shirt waddled to the front doors. "All recruits please report to the gymnasium for assembly," he wheezed.

"That's our cue. We'll see you after."

"You bet. Knock 'em dead, Tweedle-Dumb."

Matt grinned and joined the flow of recruits heading inside. Smiling herself, Deschaine headed back to where her parents were waiting.

"Time to head in. They're starting."

"You're not coming in?"

"I'll just be a minute."

"Okay," her mother said and they followed the various relatives jostling each other to get through the doors. Deschaine pushed her way out of the crowd until she reached un-clustered sidewalk. She hated being in the middle of so many people, so close together. She'd always been a little claustrophobic that way. The Boston cop blew out a relieved breath, fishing a crushed pack of gum from her pocket. Anything to get her mind off being stuck in close-quarters with that many people for who-knows-how-long.

A man came flying around the corner at the end of the block, dodging skilfully around pedestrians. He sprinted out into the street without bothering to pause to check traffic. Drivers shouted unpleasant things at him as he reached the opposite sidewalk. Deschaine saw him coming toward her and pushed herself away from the NYPA building, ready to step into his path.

"Whoa, sir, slow it down."

"I'm not too late, am I?" The man gasped, out of breath. "I ran all the way down from the Twenty-Third Street station."

"No sir. They're just starting."

"Good. Can't be late for somethin' this big."

Deschaine noted the man's uniform and gunbelt. "Are you on duty, Officer?"

"Aye, but signed outta service." The cop spat on the sidewalk and sucked in a deep gulp of air. "Gotta get in there, me son's graduating."

"Um, yeah." She stepped back as the cop pushed past her to enter the building. Might as well head inside, too. The crowd wasn't going to get any smaller.

* * *

"Matthew Connor Deschaine."

The crowd applauded as Matt accepted his certificate. Deschaine stuck two fingers between her lips to whistle. She was happy for her brother. His biggest dream had come true. He was a member of the largest police department in the world. Way to go, Tweedle-Dumb, she thought, and grinned at the old pet-name. Alice in Wonderland had been one of their favourite movies.

She folded her arms across her chest and listened to the other recruits' names get called out. This was big day for all of them. There were so many people packed together on the bleachers to witness the moment. She remembered the breathless cop who had been so afraid he would be late for the ceremony that he had run however-many blocks to get there. That's some dedication. Deschaine saw her brother looking her way as discreetly as he could and she gave him a thumbs-up. He couldn't grin in return but that was fine. There'd be time enough for smiles after the ceremony ended.

The hefty lieutenant's face crinkled into a grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, please greet the newest members of the New York City Police Department. Officers, you are now dismissed."

Cheers and whistles erupted from the families and the newly-christened officers broke ranks. Deschaine caught her brother's eye, delighted to see the pride on his face. He saluted smartly, his white-gloved hand touching the brim of his hat at exactly the right angle. She returned it with the same precision, then the need for formality was over.

"Welcome to the brotherhood, Matt," she said, weaving through the tangles of officers and their families.

"I can't believe this is happening. I finally did it." He hugged her fiercely. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it, little brother. It's a great profession."

"Hey, Matt! What precinct are you assigned to?"

Deschaine recognised the face as belonging to Jamie O'Shea. The cop who had almost run into her out on the sidewalk was standing next to him and she realised he was Jamie's father. Matt nodded.

"Somewhere in Upper Manhattan. The Fifty-Fifth."

"No kidding? Me too. I guess somebody downtown pulled a string or two."

Jamie's father grinned lopsidedly. "Don't be pointin' no fingers, I had nothin' to do with it."

"Sure, Dad."

"Do you work in that precinct too, sir?"

"All of me career. Something like twenty-five years now. Pardon me bad manners. Andrew O'Shea."

"Arthur Deschaine." Deschaine's father said, returning O'Shea's handshake. "This is my wife, Lauren, and that's Sarah in the fancy get-up."

"Pleasure, ma'am, Officer." O'Shea touched the brim of his hat respectfully. "Boston copper, huh? Good city. I've only been once but it was a good time."

"I wouldn't trade Boston for anything," Deschaine replied.

Her father eyed the hash marks on O'Shea's left sleeve. "Twenty-five years, did you say? Long time to spend in one place."

"I got a good neighbourhood beat, so it don't seem like it's been that long." O'Shea said. "Ah, crap," he added when his radio crackled.

"Five-Five Adam Foot, are you still 10-62? I'm holding three jobs in your sector."

"Excuse me for a second." He waited for an acknowledging nod and unclipped the shoulder mike from his jacket. "Standby, Central."

"Duty calls?"

"Bloody vultures. Can't a lad get half an hour to himself anymore?"

"Get goin', Dad. I'll hang a cab back."

"Not a chance. There's no reason that a new cop should have to take a cab home from the NYPA. I'll get you a real ride."

Jamie's cheeks flushed. "Aw, come on. Don't bother the shift sergeant."

"Bah, he needs to get out more anyway."

Deschaine smiled at the exchange, shaking her head. It couldn't be easy having your father be a cop. Matt stood at her left shoulder, grinning fit to burst at his friend.

"Just take the ride, Jamie. It'll probably be the only time you ever ride behind the cage."

"Good point. Sure, that'd be great, Dad."

The older O'Shea nodded. "Central, Five-Five Adam Foot. Is the Thirteenth Precinct Sergeant currently at his command?"

"Standby, Adam Foot." The dispatcher said. "Thirteen Sergeant, what's your location at this time?"

"Thirteen Sergeant, I am on the road."

"Adam Foot, Central. Request Sergeant back at his command. I have personal traffic for him."

"Ten-four, Adam Foot. Thirteen Sergeant did you copy?"

The unseen sergeant sounded amused. "I copy, Central. Returning to my command."

Deschaine's father shook his head with a smile. "That's how it's done?"

"Aye. The work of a minute. Best head outside, then. He'll be here right quick."

"Nice meeting you, Officers." Deschaine shook both men's hands. "Good luck putting up with my brother."

"We'll keep an eye on him." O'Shea promised, his shoulder mike still in his hand. "Central, Five-Five Adam Foot, I'm 98 now. Give me the most recent job."

"And that," Matt said, "is one great example of a proud family tradition."

"C'mon, _Officer_. Let's go have a celebratory dinner at a fancy New York restaurant. My treat." Their father said.

"Sounds good to me, since you're paying. There's a real upscale place a couple blocks from here. Nothing on the menu is priced under fifteen dollars."

"Very funny, Matthew."


	10. Castles of Sand

Since there are now two Deschaines, I'll only refer to Matthew by his first name to avoid confusion. Anytime you see 'Deschaine' – other than in the context of conversation – it will be Sarah unless otherwise noted. As Bosco gets to know her better, I'll break it down even further so that I only use 'Deschaine' as an identifier when a scene is told from Bosco's POV.

* * *

"Listen up, folks. Got two new guys with us." Swersky called over the chatter of voices. "Probationary Officers Matthew Deschaine and Jamie O'Shea, take a bow."

Ty Davis clapped politely, grinning as the two rookies stood up to bow. They sure weren't shy. That was a good thing, he thought, remembering his own tentative approach to The Job when he had been a rookie.

"All right, sit down, you two. With the addition of these two, the pairings will be different tonight. Barrantes, you're with Harrington, Five-Five George. Monroe, you're with Sullivan in Five-Five Charlie." The lieutenant checked his list. "That leaves Davis with Deschaine in Five David. Everyone else is the same. Both O'Sheas, see me after. That's it. Eyes and ears out there."

The cops stood up and gathered their gear. Davis worked his way through the chairs, sticking out his hand. "'Sup? Ty Davis."

"Matt Deschaine."

"Nervous?"

"A bit. I'm not completely unfamiliar with The Job, but it's different."

"Oh yeah?" Davis led the way to the radio desk. "I've never trained anybody before, so this is a little weird."

Matt took his radio with a nod of thanks. "No kiddin'. So what do we do first?"

"Most important thing: Get coffee."

"Right, gotcha." Matt grinned.

"You ever been a cop before?" Davis asked, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Nope."

"Where you from, anyway? You don't sound like a New Yorker."

The rookie shook his head. "Boston. Born and bred Grade-A Masshole."

Davis laughed as he pulled into traffic. A good sense of humour was important. "What brings you to the great City of New York?"

"Didn't want to work for Boston PD all that much. I mean, come on, this department has all the reputation."

"True."

"Besides, it would've been hard to share the city with my sister. One of us is a lot for one place. Two of us together would be a nightmare."

"Does she work for the city or something?"

"She's a cop in Six District. I used to go on ride-alongs with her and her partner before I moved."

"Nice."

Matt nodded. "She's riding with some new guy now. I guess he used to work here or something."

"For the NYPD?"

"I think that's what she said. What was his name? It was Italian. I remember that much." His brow furrowed in concentration. "B-something."

A tingle of suspicion shivered in the back of Davis' mind. "Boscorelli?"

"Yeah! That's it. Boscorelli."

Davis fell silent, considering this revelation. So that was where Bosco had disappeared to. Boston, of all places. His former partner would want to know this, he decided after moment's thought. She had been tearing herself to pieces since finding out that he had left without so much as a forwarding address. At least knowing where he had gone would be a relief.

"After we get coffee, I need to stop someplace to see a friend."

"Sure."

Poor Bosco, Davis thought. He didn't have any idea how big a mess he had left behind him. Maybe Faith would be able to convince him that it wasn't his fault once she knew where to find him.

* * *

"Bosco?"

"Deschaine?"

"Yeah." His partner nodded, wiping rainwater from her face. "Can you spare a minute?"

"Get inside, it's raining buckets." Bosco held open the door for her. "What the hell are you doing outside in this weather?"

"I'm ready to talk."

"About what?"

Deschaine wrung out her soaked beanie. "About why I've been so tired and crabby. Are you busy? I can come back later, if you are."

"No, I'm not busy. Come on upstairs."

She said nothing more as she followed him up the steps to the second floor. He couldn't help wondering why she looked scared. He'd never seen even the smallest flicker of fear cross her face before. Her steady sense of composure was one that he was coming to admire more and more.

"Are you all right?"

"Not really."

Bosco frowned to himself, letting her step past him into his tiny apartment. There had to be something very wrong for her to be here at all, let alone as clearly upset as she was. "Did something happen in New York?"

"No, it was a good trip." Deschaine replied, glancing around. "Nice place."

"It works."

"Is it all right if I sit down?"

"Sure."

His partner tentatively took a seat on the edge of the battered couch, looking more uncomfortable than he had ever seen her. "I think I'm in trouble, Bosco."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I'm being harassed."

"By who?"

"A guy… somebody I dated…" she looked down at her hands, which were clenched into tight fists. "He's a dirtbag. I don't know why he's bothering me now."

Bosco felt his neck begin to grow warm. "Who is it?"

"It's another cop," Deschaine answered after a lengthy silence. "Patrick Harris"

"The detective?"

"Yeah."

"Man. I thought he was kinda creepy, but…" his voice trailed off and an angry expression came onto his face. "How long has this been going on?"

"Too long. Sit down, Bosco. I'm dealing with him myself. I just… I just needed somebody else to know."

He forced himself to sit back down. "You dated a detective?"

"Yeah. It was stupid. Usually I know better. But… things happen for a reason."

"Why's he bothering you now, if you've broken up?"

"Patrick has the long-term memory of a rock. He still thinks I like him." She sighed tiredly. "I can't count how many times I've told him to shove it."

"What are you going to do about him, if he doesn't take the hint to back off?"

"Report him." The reply was quick and firm, and Bosco was pleased to see the familiar spark of defiant life come back to her eyes. "The dirtbag won't listen to me, but he'll damn sure listen to his boss."

"I'm a little confused, Deschaine. How long ago did you two date?"

Deschaine drew in a breath and let it out slowly, easing her fists open. "I hope you don't have any plans, 'cause it's kind of a long story."

"I've got all night."

* * *

"Is, uh, is Faith around?"

Fred looked Davis over closely, as if trying to decide whether or not to shut the door in the officer's face. "Yeah, she's here."

"Is it all right if I come in?" Davis asked uncertainly, toying with his hat.

"I guess so," Fred stepped back to let the other man enter. "She's in the bedroom."

Great, the most personal room in the apartment. Davis walked slowly through the apartment. It was relatively quiet and he wouldn't have been surprised to find that Faith was asleep. He knocked hesitantly on the doorframe.

"Who's there?"

"Ty."

He heard the mattress creak. "Come in," she said, sounding tired.

"Hey. What's up?"

"The usual crap. Nothing special. How are things at the house?"

"Not bad. It's quiet without Bosco around."

Faith grinned but the gesture lacked feeling. "Does anyone know where he went?"

"Actually…" Davis drew in a breath, turning his hat over in his hands. "There's a new guy at the house, Matt Deschaine. He's from Boston, I guess."

"Do you know where he is, Ty?"

"Yeah, actually. The new guy, Deschaine, mentioned something about his sister being a Boston cop and having a new partner. He said the guy's name was Boscorelli."

She sank back against the pillows propped up behind her back. A dozen emotions flashed across her face in rapid succession and she almost seemed at a loss for a reply. Davis shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, wondering if he should go back down to the RMP. The rookie was waiting for him.

"Listen, um, I gotta get back out there, so…"

"Davis."

He stopped halfway through the door and looked back. Faith's expression was pained. "Do you blame me?"

"For what?"

"For Bosco taking off like he did."

What could he say to that? "No. No, I don't."

"Honestly? He wouldn't have gone anywhere if I hadn't told him to." Her hands were curled tightly around the blanket covering her legs. "I let my pride get ahead of my common sense and it's cost me my best friend."

"Stop it, Faith." Davis told her, taking a chance by sitting down on the edge of the bed. "It's not your fault. Everything he's done was because he wanted to do it. It has nothing to do with you."

"How can you be sure? I told him to go away, Davis, and he did. Whose fault is that but mine?"

"Look, you couldn't have known he would take you so literally. It's not your fault. Don't beat yourself up over it."

There were tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I miss him, Davis. I miss his stupid jokes, his pathetic comments. It sucks to know he left because of me."

"At least we know he ended up in Boston," he said. "Maybe if you managed to get a hold of him there, you might be able to convince him that he needs to come back. At the very least, you can tell him that you didn't mean it."

"Yeah." She looked down at her hands, fighting to keep a hold of her composure. "Did this new guy say how Bosco was doing?"

"No. I can find out if you want."

"Please."

"You got it." Davis managed a smile for her sake. "I have to get back out there. Take care, all right?"

"Yeah." Faith said, reaching her hand out to him as he got back to his feet. "Thanks for stopping by, Ty."

"No problem," he told her, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

* * *

Bosco drummed his fingers on his knee impatiently, waiting for his partner to emerge from the station house. She had run in to grab something from the desk and it was taking her almost ten minutes. How hard could it be to pick up paperwork or whatever it was from the desk officer? He rested his head against the window and stared out at the cars going by. If she took much longer, he'd go inside himself to see what was keeping her. This was just plain ridiculous.

Her unexpected appearance at his apartment the night before and what she'd told him was still weighing heavily on his mind. She was being harassed by another cop. The revelation had made his blood boil. He would have gone straight to the station house to knock the bastard flat on his ass, or at least talk to the detective squad supervisor, but she'd made him promise to stay out of it. All she wanted to do was tell somebody. That kind of secret was too much to bear for just one person. He wished that there was something he could do to help, beyond just being there to listen.

"That was fun." Deschaine commented, sliding into the driver's seat.

At last. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her tuck a folded sheet of paper behind the sun-visor. "Nothing?"

"Yeah, nothing." She replied. "Let it go."

"If you say so," he muttered. "What now?"

"It's around the usual lunch hour, so we take a ride around and see how many parking tickets we can give out. People tend to ignore parking signs and the like more often between twelve and two."

"Great." Bosco rolled his eyes at the prospect of writing out citations. At least it had stopped raining. He hated wearing the rain slicker.

"We'll take our meal break around one o'clock."

"Even better."

Deschaine guided the cruiser into the outside lane, glancing at the other vehicle as she passed it. Bosco heard her quick intake of breath and followed her gaze. The blue Dodge was just turning onto A Street. He didn't see anything special about the vehicle but Deschaine clearly did. She flipped on the lights to make a hard U-turn in the middle of the busy street.

"Did you see something?" Bosco asked as the cruiser bumped over a pothole onto A Street.

"Yeah. The driver gave me the weirdest look when we passed him. There was blood all over his shirt and it looked like he had some on his hands too. I couldn't really tell. And he didn't signal, like most people. More than enough to warrant a stop." His partner reached down to flash the take-down lights at the Dodge in front of them. The driver obediently, if a little hesitantly, pulled over to the right. Deschaine brought the cruiser to a stop so that the left taillight of the other vehicle in line with the centre of the police unit's hood and unclipped the mike from the centre radio console. "Six Adam, Boston. 10-60."

"Go ahead, Adam."

"Massachusetts tag, One-Four-Nine-Victor-Echo. West Broadway and A Street."

"Standby, Adam."

Deschaine clipped the mike back to the radio console. "Let's go."

The two officers approached the Dodge casually, but Bosco could sense the tension in his partner. He was on edge too. Stopping somebody who was driving around covered in blood was enough to get his nerves crackling.

"Licence and registration, please, sir." Deschaine said. "And could you roll down your passenger window? Thanks."

"I don't have my wallet on me," the driver told her as he obeyed, remarkably calm despite the glaringly evident blood splatters on his shirt. "Why did you pull me over for, anyway? I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"Failure to signal a turn is wrong. Do you have registration for this vehicle, sir?"

"I didn't signal?"

"No sir." Deschaine's voice was studiously polite. "Registration?" The driver blinked slowly and reached for the glove compartment. Bosco scanned the backseat, looking for anything that would suggest how this guy could have gotten so much blood on him. There was nothing. The backseat was spotless. As he turned his attention back to the driver, something on the rear door handle caught his eye. Curious, Bosco looked closer. It looked like dark red paint, but he had a suspicious feeling that it wasn't.

"How did you get all the blood on you?" He asked the man, leaning through the open passenger window. A sweet, grassy odour assaulted his nostrils and he tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Great, the driver was high. _Man, this day just keeps getting better and better._

"I had a nosebleed earlier. I was on my way home to change."

"Uh-huh. Why is there some blood on your neck, then?"

"There isn't any blood on my neck."

Deschaine nodded. "Yes, actually there is."

"Really?"

"Yes sir. Is it okay if we take a quick look in your trunk?" His partner asked, all but reading his mind.

"No, you can't. There's personal stuff in there."

"We promise not to tell anyone what we see."

The man fidgeted. "No. You can't look in the trunk."

Bosco caught his partner's glance and moved toward the rear of the vehicle. The guy didn't say they couldn't look _at _the trunk. There was something definitely fishy about this car. He noticed more red paint-like drops on the rear bumper. They were too small to be visible from a distance, which explained why neither he nor his partner had seen them from the cruiser.

"Deschaine."

She met his gaze over the car's roof and nodded. It was time to be a little less polite. "Step out of the car, please."

"I haven't done anything."

"Step out of the car, sir."

The driver sighed and opened the door to get out. "I really don't see the point of all this."

"Put your hands against the car." Deschaine said, pulling out a pair of gloves from her pocket. "And spread your legs out wide."

Bosco moved around to the driver's side of the car and reached through the open window to shut off the ignition. "We're going to search your trunk now."

"You can't, I said you can't!"

"The drops of blood on the rear bumper say we can."

"What blood? There's no blood back there. You're making it up!"

Deschaine gave the man a push back against the car. "Keep your hands on the roof, sir."

"Boston, Six Adam, your status?"

"Standby, Boston." Deschaine looked over at her partner. "What's in there?"

"Nothing here but a wool blanket," Bosco reported, slightly relieved. "There's a baseball bat here too. I'd say somebody got beaned hard by it because it's got blood all over it."

"Looks like this isn't your lucky day. Put your hands on the car."

"I didn't do anything," the man insisted as Deschaine gave him a thorough pat-down. "I swear I didn't."

"Sure. Hands behind your back." Deschaine ordered, pulling her handcuffs from her belt. She got one cuff secured on the man's left wrist and was about to repeat the process for the other wrist when the man suddenly jerked his arm from her grip.

"I said I didn't do anything!" He cried, flailing wildly with his left arm. Bosco saw the glint of sunlight on metal as the open cuff traced a line across his partner's face. He leaped forward to get to her before she could fall. The man took off down the street, the handcuffs dangling from his left wrist.

"You okay?"

"Son-of-a-_bitch!_" Deschaine pressed her fingers to the gash on her cheek, far .more angry than in pain. "Get him!"

Bosco needed no further urging. He was off running without a backward glance. The man had a decent head-start and he probably knew the area a lot better than Bosco did. It'd be a real stroke of luck if he managed to catch the bastard.

"Six Adam, Boston, in foot pursuit of male subject, southbound on A Street," his partner snapped over the radio. "Fled from traffic stop, I need detectives to secure the vehicle."

"Ten-four, Adam."

Bloody Shirt tripped over some gravel as he tried to round the corner onto a side street. Bosco pushed himself faster in an effort to close the distance but the guy was back on his feet again. The cruiser whipped past the intersection without turning and he wondered for half an instant what the hell his partner was doing. _Hello! We're going _this_ way!_ "Six Adam, suspect now heading east on…" Bosco looked around for a street sign, realising that he had no idea what street they were on. Bloody Shirt sprinted around a parked car, increasing his lead ever-so-slightly. Clenching his teeth, Bosco powered himself faster. No way was this guy getting away. Not today.

"Boston, Six Adam. What is the suspect's direction of travel?"

Finally, an intersection and a street sign. "Southbound on B Street." Bosco told the dispatcher, glancing quickly around to check for traffic. He saw his partner flash past one street away. _Wrong direction, Deschaine!_ He thought as he raced on, unable to close the gap between himself and Bloody Shirt. If anything, the distance was growing. What was this guy, Superman?

From out of nowhere, his partner reappeared. She must have turned around somewhere. Whatever. It wasn't important right then. Deschaine stopped the cruiser directly in Bloody Shirt's path, springing immediately from the driver's seat onto the pavement. Bloody Shirt broke left. Bosco was two strides ahead of his partner and was determined to keep it that way. He wanted to catch this guy.

A throaty bark from off to his left took his attention away from the chase in a heartbeat. "Dog!" He sprang back from the un-tethered animal, all thoughts of Bloody Shirt driven straight from his mind. The big rottweiler barked as it charged and Bosco turned tail fast. Deschaine had made a sharp about-face upon seeing the dog, her thoughts clearly similar to his. _Run!_

"Get to the car!" His partner shouted over her shoulder.

He wasn't fast enough to outrun a dog and he was running out of breath. His only option was to get someplace high. Like a telephone pole. Yeah, that would work just fine. Bosco gathered his weight and leaped up onto a covered trashcan, grabbing one of the staples driven into the pole. He pulled himself up to the next staple as the dog sprang airborne after him. Its frustrated bark seemed to originate too close so he climbed higher. The dog hopped up and down like a mad rabbit, barking non-stop, trying to get at Bosco, now safely perched out of reach.

"Six Adam, Boston. Request Animal Control to 149 Flaherty Way for a loose dog. Foot pursuit is abandoned at this time." Deschaine's voice reflected her disgust.

"Suspect's last known direction?"

"Southbound from this location, heading toward Marotta Way. Suspect is male, mid-forties, wearing a blood-stained shirt. He has one wrist handcuffed. Possibly under the influence of narcotics or alcohol."

Bosco glared down at the still-barking dog, annoyed that it had felt the need to chase him instead of Bloody Shirt. Dammit this was embarrassing.

* * *

"How's your face?"

"It's felt better," Deschaine answered, wincing as the paramedic dabbed at the deep gash on her cheek with a hydrogen peroxide-soaked Q-tip. "I've always figured handcuffs could be used as a weapon, but not by a guy already wearing 'em."

"Well, you're gonna need stitches. It's too deep to be treated with just a bandage."

"Great."

Bosco cracked a grin at her irritated expression. "Just hope it won't leave a scar."

"You're so funny."

"You miss runnin' a bus, Deschaine?" The paramedic asked, stowing his bag into the back of the ambulance.

"Sometimes, like when I get chased back to my cruiser by a damn dog. What's it to you, Wagner? You miss me?"

"Depends on the day. Hop up, we'll give you a lift to the hospital."

"I'll meet you there," Bosco said as Wagner shut the rear doors. Deschaine nodded at him.

"Follow us in. Don't need you to get lost or anything in this great big city."

Her partner only grinned and walked the short distance to the cruiser. She accepted the four-by-four dressing that Joe Duncan handed her, holding it to the cut on her cheek. Duncan held open the side door for her and she climbed in, taking a seat in the cushioned captain's-style chair near the head of the stretcher. Truth be told, she did miss the ordered chaos that was Boston EMS from time to time. Her partner's expression when Wagner had hinted at her previous experience as a medic was utterly priceless. It was one more thing he would have known a lot sooner if personal banter between them didn't put him so much on edge. Deschaine winced as she adjusted the dressing on her cheek. Dammit that hurt. The metal teeth on the cuff sure could leave a hell of a gouge.

"Is it stingin' yet?"

"Yeah. Hurts like hell."

Duncan shook his head, glancing back from his position in the passenger's seat to grin knowingly. "That's what you get for movin' down the job ladder."

"Hey, Metro Transit was a good gig. I just got a better offer."

"You know what I mean, Deschaine." The paramedic said. "There's always a spot open on the roster if you want it back."

"I'll keep that in mind. Who knows, after Boscorelli gets assigned a permanent partner, I might try to go half and half."

Wagner snorted a laugh. "There ain't any half and half paramedics on my shift. Either you're in all the way or you're just dead weight."

"Then I guess you're not gettin' me back. Sorry Joe."

The two medics said little more on the subject, for which Deschaine was inwardly grateful. She wouldn't even need to be sitting the back of the ambulance, pressing a four-by-four to her cheek, if she had been completely focussed. Her mind had been preoccupied with her request to rejoin the paramedics' rotation. The single piece of paper that she had somehow left in her locker and hurried back to the station to retrieve was indirectly responsible for her lack of concentration. All she had to do was drop it off downtown and wait for the official response. Simple and straightforward, but it was an errand that was suddenly delayed indefinitely. She wanted out of the station house. Simply reporting Harris' behaviour to his lieutenant wasn't enough. They still worked out of the same building and as long as she was assigned there, he wouldn't stop. Taking legal action against him would brand her as a rat, she knew it. Transferring was her only viable option.

Deschaine heaved herself out of the chair as the bus lurched to a stop outside the hospital's emergency entrance. Time to get jabbed with a needle. Wonderful. Joe Duncan opened the side door and stood back to let her out.

"Watch your step as you disembark the ambulance and thank you for choosing Charlie Six-One for your emergency transportation needs."

"Anyone ever told you that you're a dork, Duncan?"

Duncan blushed. "Coming from you, Deschaine, that's a compliment."

Bosco appeared from around the bus, an unreadable expression on his face. "What's a compliment?"

"Nothing, Bosco. It's just pointless humour."

"Between paramedics, right?" Her partner held up the single folded paper that she had tucked over the visor in the cruiser. "I didn't think you were planning to just leave me hanging."

_Crap._ "That's a personal letter, Bosco. I didn't give you permission to read it."

"You left out where it could be found by anyone. Plain view, right?"

Her temper flared red-hot at his boldness. "What the hell do you care whether I go back to EMS or not? You haven't shown an interest in getting me to want to stay. If anything, I should be the one giving _you_ crap for being an ass."

"Funny how you haven't."

"That might be because you won't clean the rocks out of your ears long enough to listen."

"Why should I waste my time listening to you? You're as messed up as I am, if not more."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means get your own life figured out before you nag me about mine." Bosco answered, a cross expression on his face. "You can't even decide whether you want to be a cop or a medic. Get off my case and keep your worthless advice to yourself."

"So I have to be a saint in order to have any credibility? Well _damn_, Bosco! I'll be sure to talk to you when I need tips on how to look after my own partner." Wagner and Duncan stared and she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their gazes, her energy spent. It wasn't worth arguing with him. All they were doing was going in circles. "Look, I've got to get this sutured and then I'll discuss this with you."

"There's nothing _to_ discuss, Deschaine. I think this request says it all," Bosco snapped, flinging the paper at her in disgust. "I hope you've got a ride back to the house, because I'm not gonna be waiting for you."

"Bosco, wait a minute – "

"I'll get a new partner for tomorrow. It's been great fun ridin' with you." Her partner interrupted as he stomped to the cruiser. Deschaine said something decidedly unladylike at his retreating back and bent to pick up the paper from the ground.

"Um… I guess that means 'welcome back to Boston EMS'?"

"Shut up, Wagner," she snarled, entering the hospital without a backward glance at the departing cruiser. Great day this turned out to be.

* * *

10-60: Traffic stop (Penobscot County Sheriff's Department) 


	11. Falling

Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I really appreciate the feedback. Good, bad, or indifferent, let me know what you think!

I know it's a little soon to be updating again, but I'm going to be away from an Internet-capable computer for awhile. So here's a little something for you all to enjoy until I post the next chapter. :)

Matt asks some tough questions and Bosco spends the midnight shift with a different partner.

* * *

The two rookies sat side by side in roll call for the second night in a row. If Davis didn't know better, he would have guessed they were partners instead of two young cops still getting their bearings in their first assignment. Matt – as he insisted that Davis call him – seemed to get along great with O'Shea's kid. Friends in the Academy and sent to the same precinct. The younger O'Shea even got to be trained by his father. Davis grinned at the thought. Such pairings were very rare but Swersky must have decided that it was the best one for both of them.

"Man, all you two do is talk," Andrew O'Shea grumbled, edging past Davis to take a seat in the back of the room. "I gotta wonder if you both ever stop long enough to listen to simple silence!"

Matt looked slightly uneasy at the veteran's rebuke, but the younger O'Shea was completely unfazed. He only shook his head. "Don't mind him, he's just an old grump."

"I heard that, boy!"

The officers shared a chuckle that petered out as Lieutenant Swersky entered the room. Davis sat back, his notebook lying open on the desk in front of him. A least a dozen questions had popped into his mind when he found out where Bosco had gone. He wanted to know how the guy was doing, most importantly. Matt hadn't been able or willing to offer up anything when Davis had asked him the previous night but maybe that was because he didn't know anything. It was strange for Bosco to end up in a city so close to New York. He had thought Bosco would have taken off for someplace farther away.

"Take it easy. Eyes and ears out there." Swersky said.

"I'll be out in a minute, Davis."

"Sure."

Matt joined the flow of cops filing through the door, chatting animatedly with Jamie O'Shea. Davis flipped his notebook closed and tucked it into his jacket. As far as he was concerned, the rookie could do what he wanted with his time before they hit the street. It wasn't his problem unless Swersky got after him about it.

"Rookies, huh? Never can figure 'em out." Sully said, coming up behind him.

"I guess. I haven't got a clue what to do with Deschaine. I've never trained anyone before."

"It's simple enough. Just show 'em what to do, what not to do, and hope they learn it."

Sully chuckled. "Simple? You didn't have the pleasure of dealing with Steve Gusler when he was around."

"True. Wasn't he the kid who lost it in that shootout way back? The one where Benny Ross – "

"Yeah, that was the one. Poor kid was a nervous wreck afterward."

O'Shea shrugged. "It happens. Can't change it, just gotta deal with it. See you lads for dinner. It's a long walk to me post if I don't catch Bell and Thatcher before they leave."

"Take it easy out there, O'Shea. Never know what kind of creeps you'll run into."

"You know me, Sullivan. I don't go lookin' for trouble." O'Shea answered with a grin. "Catch you lads on the flip side." The Irishman ambled out to the lobby, calling for his son and trainee.

Sully shook his head. "He doesn't look for trouble. Right. How're you and Deschaine getting along?"

"It's going all right. Bit odd to be the senior guy, though."

"That'll pass. If you need advice or anythin', me and Monroe are only a radio call away. See you out there."

"Later, man." Davis gathered his gear, a little surprised that he wasn't really apprehensive. It had been a shock when Swersky announced he was getting a rookie to train but after the initial bout of uncertainty passed, he didn't feel nervous about it. O'Shea's straightforward advice seemed the best way to go. Matt was sharp enough figure out most things without much prodding. "Yo, Deschaine. Let's roll."

The rookie was already waiting by the front doors. "What's the deal with this Boscorelli guy, anyway? I asked a couple people but they give me funny looks and don't answer."

The question stopped Davis cold, halfway into the RMP. Why did he want to know something so complicated? This was only his second day. "It's hard to explain," he replied, forcing himself to settle into the driver's seat as if there was nothing wrong.

"Try me."

"I'm really not the one you should be asking this stuff."

"Then who should I ask?"

"Nobody." Davis muttered. "Look, if there's one thing nobody talks about it, it's why Bosco left the precinct. Just leave it alone, okay?"

"Sure, man. Sorry."

"Right."

For six blocks, the only sound in the RMP was the chatter on the radio. Davis had a strange feeling that there were going to be more questions before too long and his suspicions were realised when Matt drew in a breath.

"So who was the friend you went to see yesterday? Somebody special?"

"It was just a friend. A couple of us stop by when we can to say hello."

"This friend can't get out or what?"

Davis' jaw tightened. This had to stop, but how could he keep deflecting these questions? The only solution he could think of was the truth. He didn't know this guy at all. Could he be trusted? Maybe he could work a two-way flow of information. If Matt wanted answers to his probing questions, he would have to answer some of Davis' own enquiries. Whatever he could find out would get passed on to Faith as soon as possible.

"How badly do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious man. It's not all that important."

Sure. "I'll tell you if you agree to tell me what you know about how Bosco is doing."

"You mean my sister's partner?"

"Yeah."

Matt nodded slowly. "Works for me. Sure, it's a deal."

"Me first. What's Bosco been up to?" Davis asked.

The sturdy rookie gave a shrug. "Giving my sister grey hairs. He's a real stubborn guy, she says. I guess he's got some real heavy baggage doggin' him too. She says he avoids personal questions like the plague. Last night they had a fight about him not trusting her or something. I don't know if he's riding with her tonight or not. It's weird, because she's damn easy to talk to."

"He's not talking about anything?"

"Nope. He stonewalls her every time she asks and she's just about given up. I wouldn't be surprised if she shoved him onto somebody else and went back to being a medic. I think she likes that a little bit better."

"Your sister was a paramedic before becoming a cop?"

"Uh-huh. She spent a year in an ambulance, decided suddenly to go through the Academy, and ended up with the MBTA for two years. Then she transferred to the street. That was about five years ago."

Davis whistled. "Pretty good résumé."

"I guess. Sometimes I wonder if she's really happy with what she does. She says she is, but I get the feeling she's always looking for something more that she can't seem to grab onto." Matt shrugged again. "Me, I'm livin' a dream. It'll take an act of God to kick me down."

"As long as it's want you want."

"Yeah. Your turn now. What happened that's too horrible to be mentioned?"

"You can keep your mouth shut, right?"

"Yeah man. No problem."

It was hard to force the words to un-stick themselves from his throat. "Before he left, Bosco was working with Anti-Crime…" Davis' voice trailed off in mid-sentence. "I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"Hey man, a deal's a deal."

"I know, I know. Listen," he sighed, tapping an uncertain rhythm on the steering wheel, "if I take you somewhere, will you tell somebody what you told me?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Good. I'm not the one who should be answering questions about this anyway."

* * *

"Bosco." Deschaine called out to him from across the station house lobby but he pretended that he didn't hear her. He had no interest in talking to her. If she wanted a split to go back to being a paramedic, or whatever she had been before becoming a cop, that was absolutely fine with him. He'd only miss watching her. She had a sense of poise to go with her curves, but that was hardly enough to outweigh his disgust that she wanted out of their pairing. Whatever fleeting emotions that passed through him were not enough to entice him to reverse his decision. It was done.

"Bosco!"

Bosco stubbornly kept his back to her as he walked toward the roll call room. Lieutenant Webber had reluctantly agreed to place him with Ken Sweeney in Six Adam, which left Deschaine stuck on Sweeney's foot beat. Ah, sweet, sweet justice. She had threatened him with a foot post so it was fitting that she should be the one to end up with that wonderful duty.

"Settle in, folks. The guy from the A Street traffic stop yesterday is still on the run. CS went over the car but other than the baseball bat in the trunk and the blood splatters, they didn't find anything useful. We got a composite sketch of the guy from the descriptions given by Deschaine and Boscorelli. The car is registered to a Mary Rivers out of Worcester, so it's a good bet that this guy stole it. He was wearing a blood-stained dark blue long-sleeved shirt and had his left wrist handcuffed. It's possible that he's been able to pick the lock to lose the cuffs and it's more than likely that he's changed clothes. Be on the lookout for this guy anyway. A warrant has been issued for his arrest for assaulting an officer, so if anyone sees him, grab him quick. No messin' around, got it?" The assembled officers nodded or muttered agreement. Sergeant Crawford cleared his throat and continued. "Pairings for the night are the same as usual, with the exception of Sweeney joining Boscorelli in Six Adam. That means you're on the foot post, Deschaine. No funny business tonight. Dismissed."

"Bosco."

"Let's go, Sweeney."

The wiry cop lifted an eyebrow at the brusque command, casting a glance at Deschaine. A look that Bosco didn't notice passed between the other two cops. He had already gone out into the lobby.

"Hey, Boscorelli. I really think you should ride with Deschaine tonight."

"Yeah? Well I don't and I'm not going to. Are you ready?"

Sweeney's expression hardened. "Listen up, son. You're forgottin' your place in this department. I don't care if you were the damn Chief of Patrol back in New York, 'cause this ain't New York. This is Boston and here, you're just the new guy. You don't want to ride with Deschaine? Hey, I got no problems with that. But I don't put up with half the crap she does. You poke even a _toe_ outta line, I'm gonna toss your ass onto the sidewalk and send the lieutenant after you. Got it?"

"I thought you guys were supposed to be laid back and crap like that."

"We make exceptions for jackasses like you. Here's a summons book, Boscorelli. We're on ticket duty tonight." Sweeney told him, slapping a pad of citations against Bosco's chest. "Let's go."

Bosco caught Deschaine's eye as he followed Sweeney toward the front doors, a little intimidated. She only returned his gaze with a shrug and zipped up her jacket. For a moment, he was tempted to change his mind but his pride stepped in quickly to defeat the notion before it could grow. No way was he gonna admit to her, someone he hardly knew, that he had been a tad bit too hasty.

He stowed his gear alongside the passenger seat without a word. Sweeney started the cruiser, but turned in the seat toward him instead of putting the car into gear.

"Ground rules if you're gonna be ridin' with me. One, I don't tolerate backtalk. It's 'yes', 'no', or silence. Two, I only make conversation when I feel like it. Other than that, there's no talk. If you want to run your jaw, do it after shift. Three, I make the decisions. I don't care what you think, if I say we're doin' something, we're doin' it. Four, at no point during the shift do you do _anything_ unless I tell you to. Whatever Deschaine lets you get away with is her business. When you screw up, it makes me look bad and I don't like looking bad. Five, I take meal break at four from McDonald's. Whether or not you're hungry doesn't matter, that's when you get the chance to eat. There is no snacking in my car. Do we understand each other?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Sweeney looked out the passenger window and nodded. "Here comes our passenger."

_What the hell?_ Bosco followed the other man's gaze to see Deschaine approaching the cruiser, her nightstick and flashlight in one hand. _Crap._

"Thanks for waiting, Sweeney," she said, sliding carefully into the backseat.

"Least I can do for you. It's not every shift I get off that foot post."

"Looks like you're gonna be off it for awhile."

Sweeney swung the car away from the curb. "It'd be nice to be in a car before it really starts getting cold."

"Lucky you, then, huh? I kinda miss the foot post. It's hard not to get lazy when you're drivin' a car all shift."

"I'll take bein' lazy over poundin' pavement any day, thanks."

Bosco rubbed his temples. Was she trying to make him feel guilty? It was working. For all his determination to stay angry about her apparent decision to shove him off on another partner after his training period was up, he was feeling more and more that he really _was_ being a jerk to her. When he thought about it that way, he found it difficult to fault her for wanting to get rid of him. If going back to be a paramedic was what she wanted, who was he to be angry at her for that? He sighed. What a huge mess he'd gotten himself into this time by opening his mouth.

"Something you wanna say, Boscorelli?"

"No, nothing," he replied quickly.

"Good. Let Deschaine out, then, would you?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." Deschaine said, stretching her legs after sliding out from behind the metal cage.

"Hey, um, about yesterday – "

"Quit gabbin' and get back in the car. I don't have time to wait for you." Sweeney called from inside the cruiser.

"Have a good shift."

"Deschaine, wait a – "

"Bye, Bosco."

The muscles in his jaw clenched in frustration. Was it really so hard to wait for half a second and listen? He pushed the rear door shut and climbed back into the passenger's seat. "This sucks."

"You wanted the split. Suck it up and deal with it." Sweeney told him. "I don't know what your beef is with Deschaine and I don't really care, but I'll tell you this right now. That cop walkin' away there is a damn good person. She cares a helluva lot more about her partner, no matter who it is, than you seem to think she does. Her way of doin' things isn't the same as mine and I don't always agree with her, but she's got my respect. You're a real jerk if you think you're accomplishin' anything by pushin' away the only person who's bothering to stick her neck out for you. Don't expect that from me."

"I won't. Let's just get through the shift, okay?"

Sweeney nodded. "Works for me. Now shut up, listen, watch, and learn."

* * *

The last thing she expected was a knock on the door. Nobody else was home, which was odd for five-thirty in the evening. Who could possibly want to visit, anyway? She wouldn't have been surprised if it was one of Emily's friends or something.

"Just a minute," she called, backing her chair away from the window where she had been watching the rain fall. It only took a handful of seconds for her to manoeuvre around the furniture and get to the door. She was getting good at this. "It's open." Faith wheeled herself back to avoid getting hit by the door.

"We're not interrupting anything, are we?"

"No. It's just me at the moment. Fred and the kids are out grocery shopping."

Davis and the brawny rookie behind him entered, looking somewhat damp even in their rain slickers. They shook the excess water from themselves as they followed her to the living room. "Is it all right if we sit down?"

"Sure. Make yourselves comfortable."

The rookie promptly claimed a spot on the couch, but Faith noted a flicker of discomfort flash across Davis' face as he hesitated before following suit. Obviously this visit wasn't simply a friendly one.

"This is Matt Deschaine, the new guy I told you about yesterday. Deschaine, this is, uh, this is Faith Yokas."

"Pleasure," Deschaine said, offering his hand. Faith cast a questioning glance at Davis as she accepted the handshake, nodding absently. What the hell was going on here?

"I don't think this is just a meet-the-rookie visit, Davis. What do you want?"

Davis shifted uneasily but he swallowed and said, "Deschaine here is from Boston. Why don't you tell her what you told me?"

* * *

"How many violations on your side?"

"Seven."

Sweeney nodded. "You're improving. I marked down ten."

"Ten?"

"Ten. The parking signs are there for a reason, Boscorelli. People ignore 'em, so we ticket 'em."

"Boston, Six Adam, patrol check."

"Six Adam, ten-four." Sweeney replied.

"Adam, take a noise complaint at 225 D Street. Complainant advises that it's a group of teenagers. Ten-three?"

"Ten-four, Boston."

"Is this what we're gonna be doing all night? Writing tickets and responding to stupid complaints?"

"Did I say that you could whine? No? All right then. Shut up and get in the car."

Bosco scowled darkly but obeyed. This guy was a real jackass. There were a hundred things they could be doing that were better than just writing tickets. Weren't there cops whose sole job was to write tickets? He couldn't take much more of this boring crap.

"By the way, you missed two cars at the end of the street. We'll come back after this call so you can ticket them."

_What the hell?_ "No way."

"I don't want to hear it, Boscorelli. Hit the sidewalk right now if you want to bitch and moan. I've told you the rules. Work by 'em or get outta my car."

It took a mighty effort but Bosco clamped down on his rising temper. There were only a couple hours left in the shift. He could hang on until then.

* * *

Davis followed his trainee-partner up the stairs to the locker room, wondering how much the young cop was going to tell his sister. The visit to Faith's had given Matt more information than he clearly was able to handle. He was going to talk to somebody, Davis knew it. Nobody that new would be able to keep such a big secret to himself.

"Hey, Davis. You up for a drink?"

"No thanks. Maybe next time."

Matt pulled a sweatshirt over his head and shutting his locker. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah." He hung up his uniform shirt, wishing he could have somehow avoided forcing Faith to relive that night from hell. Nobody had talked about that since IAB had wrapped up its investigation. At least not until Matt Deschaine came to the precinct.

"How's the new kid doing?"

"All right."

"Where's he from, anyway? He's definitely from out-of-town."

"Boston."

"Ah. Great. A Red Sox fan."

Davis grinned. "Yeah, figures, huh?" The grin faded from his face after a moment. "He told me something interesting, Sully. I passed it along to Faith but I don't really know what to do."

"What'd he say?"

"It was about Bosco."

* * *

Bosco flung his locker open and angrily unbuttoned his uniform shirt, all but ripping off the buttons. A light shade of crimson tinged his face and neck. That he'd had a bad shift was all too evident. It was his fault for choosing to ride with Ken Sweeney. The guy was known for being unforgiving with new cops. The leniency Bosco had enjoyed with her didn't extend to Sweeney. Deschaine pulled off her own shirt, pretending that she wasn't angry either. Her partner was acting like a complete ass. Why couldn't he just let her talk to him? He needed to know why she planned to make the request for transfer, but if he insisted on ignoring her… then that wasn't her problem.

She tugged a sweatshirt over her head, not bothering to put on a T-shirt or to remove her Kevlar vest. Whatever shortcuts she could take to get out of the locker room ahead of him were worth it. Without folding them, she stuffed her uniform shirts and a pair of trousers into her duffel bag, and unloaded her gun. All her uniforms needed to be cleaned and ironed at some point, but she had to work a shift at the restaurant first. It figured that her father would call her five minutes _before_ roll call and ask her to fill in the breakfast crowd. It would be one in the afternoon at least before she could get home to take care of her uniforms and feed her cat. To hell with sleep. There wouldn't be enough time for that. Her jeans went into the duffel bag and she shut her locker. Time to go.

"Deschaine."

_Oh no you don't._ Deschaine slung her bag over one shoulder, pulling her Red Sox beanie low over her ears. _Go the hell away, Bosco. I don_'_t have time for this right now._ "Go home, Bosco. You're on the four to twelve tonight."

"Would you stop for a second and talk to me?"

"I've got to get home and drop my stuff off. I'm already late for work."

"Work? We just got off-shift."

She kept walking, bumping through the front doors. "Yes, work. I pull a shift or two at my parents' place when they need an extra hand. And I'm already ten minutes late. I need to go."

"Deschaine." Bosco seized her duffel bag to prevent her from crossing the street. "I want to talk to you."

"Sure, _now_ you do. Didn't like riding with Ken Sweeney, huh? It's what you wanted, deal with it."

"I made a mistake."

"So you suffer the consequences. Look, Bosco, I _really_ need to go. There's no slack cut for late waitresses."

There was open distress on his face. "Please, Deschaine. I really gotta to talk to someone."

Deschaine studied his expression, wanting to stay angry with him, but she felt her annoyance fade into resigned sympathy. He was having a hard enough time without her making it worse by refusing to listen. "All right. Stop by at noon, that's when I get relieved. Now I really need to go."

"Right." Bosco relinquished his grip on her duffel bag and stepped back, watching her with an expression bordering almost on sadness. She readjusted her shoulder strap with a sigh. Puppy eyes always got to her.

"Bosco, I can't have people hanging around the diner. It's the breakfast rush. I just can't. Just come by around twelve or so, okay? Another waitress will be coming in then to take over for me." Deschaine reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "It's not that I don't want to listen. Really, it's not."

"Yeah. You better get going."

"Bosco."

He continued walking down the sidewalk, as if he didn't hear her. Deschaine only sighed tiredly. It wasn't her fault that she'd been roped into a four-hour shift to fill in for a waitress. Why did he have to make her feel guilty for something that she couldn't have helped? Whatever. She wasn't getting to work by standing on the sidewalk.

* * *

"You're late, Sarah."

Deschaine hurried through the front door, ignoring the merry tingle of the bell, and made her way toward the kitchen. "I told you I wasn't off until eight."

"It doesn't take you half an hour to get from the station to here."

"I got tied up, Dad. It happens. Do you need the help or not?"

Her father waved a hand dismissively. "Get changed. It's busy out here."

She didn't bother with a reply as she ducked through the swinging kitchen door, irritated and grateful that she was still wearing her vest. The warmth from the stoves rolled at her like a stifling wave. The bulky Kevlar wrapped around her torso made her sweat and that was irritating to no end. On the other hand, on such a chilly day as this one, it was nice to have something on that retained heat. It was too late to remove the vest or change out of her blue-striped uniform pants, so she just shucked off her Boston PD sweatshirt and grabbed a clean blue shirt from the pile in her father's office. The light fabric hugged her closely, outlining her vest like a map. As she tucked the shirttails into her uniform trousers and refastened the leather belt, Deschaine wished she had taken the extra seconds back at the station to pull off the Kevlar. It was too late now. Hopefully the apron she was tying around her waist would help conceal the vest's outline.

"Let's go, Sarah. I can't handle the whole floor myself."

"I'm coming." Deschaine grabbed a notepad and a pen on her way back out to the dining area. She knew she looked like hell with her dark cinnamon hair falling out of her ponytail, with a line of stitches on her cheek, and half her police uniform still on, but work was work.

"I'll be on the line," her father told her, squeezing past her to retreat to the kitchen. The Boston officer forced herself to smile at an annoyed-looking couple in a corner booth. Of _course_ he'd dump the entire floor on her. It was only twenty-something tables packed with people. _Gee, thanks so much, Dad. This is _just_ what I wanted to do in between shifts._ Spending eight hours on a foot beat was hard enough. Being pigeon-holed into a four hour stint running around, keeping short-tempered diners happy made her want to scream. Her feet ached and throbbed in her boots and she could feel a blister forming on the ball of her right foot. Dammit this was _not_ how she wanted to spend the all-too-short eight hours between shifts. There was not going to be any time to sleep today. Wonderful.

"Why is it taking so long? We've been waiting here for twenty minutes!"

Deschaine did her best to keep a smile on her face. "We're a little short-staffed today but I'll do my best to get to everyone as quickly as I can."

"Are you our waitress?"

_Unfortunately._ "Yes sir. I'll be right with you."

"You look horrible. I hope that the other staff aren't allowed to be so sloppy in their appearance."

"Thank you for pointing that out, sir. I'll be sure to tell that to the next person who attacks me when I'm trying to arrest them."

The man gaped at her as she wove her way through the tables toward the window section. His wife or whoever the woman with him was shook her head at Deschaine's parting remark, noting the dark blue trousers with the lighter blue stripe on each leg. It never paid to argue with a waitress if one wanted decent service, particularly if the waitress was a cop.

"Sarah! Hurry up. I've got orders stacking up in here."

"Of _course_ you do." Deschaine muttered under her breath as she hustled back toward the kitchen after taking an order. "I'd like to see _you_ work twelve hours straight, take four hours off, and then work another eight hour shift without sleep."

Her father waved a hand at the dishes lined up on the metal shelf, each with an order slip over it. "Put some energy in it, girl. There are hungry people out there."

"Right away."

"Don't forget to smile!"

_Ugh._ The man didn't seem to know when to shut up. Wasn't it obvious that she was not in the mood for his grating sense of authority? She was dead tired and she wanted to go home. It had been a couple days since she'd managed to sleep more than four hours straight. Stress and exhaustion were steadily nibbling away at her self-control. Her temper couldn't hold out for ever, particularly in this high-pressure environment.

"Ham and eggs?" Deschaine set down a plate in front of a beefy man in a suit and tie. "And the French toast?"

"Can I have an extra order of homefries, please?"

"Of course."

"Make it quick, please. We have a meeting in an hour."

"Yes sir." _Remind me again why I gave up waitressing as a profession?_ Deschaine hurried to deliver the rest of her tray-load and retreated at a fast walk to the kitchen. "Side of homefries on the double."

"Fries on the double," a line cook replied, tossing chopped up potatoes into a pan. The Boston cop piled up her tray with another load of plates and balanced it expertly as she re-entered the dining room. As hectic as the pace was, she knew how to handle the pressure. It was no problem.

Two hours dragged by. Deschaine rested her back against the wall inside the kitchen, all but dead on her feet. She hadn't had a moment to stand still since she had gotten there. It was an all-too-brief respite, but it would have to do. There were two more hours to get through before she could get home. Sleep. That's all she wanted to do, but she wouldn't be able to sleep until sometime tomorrow. Wonderful when things worked out that way.

"Sarah, quit napping! Orders are up."

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her temples in an effort to banish the exhaustion-induced headache. Was it impossible to go a day without a migraine this week? At least it wasn't so bad that she wanted to curl up into a ball and die from the pain. The cop pushed away from the wall to pick up her tray and load it up with plates. If she had any courage, she would tell her father to find somebody else to cover shifts on such short notice. But this was his diner, and _nobody_ said no to Arthur Deschaine when it came to his diner.

"Pancakes and sausage?"

The skinny pre-teen all but bouncing out of his chair nodded emphatically. Deschaine plastered a smile onto her face as she set the plate down. Rubber Ball Boy's mother offered a weary smile, as if she somehow understood the reasons for Deschaine's all-too-clear exhaustion. It was a real challenge to hold her tongue as she headed for another table but she managed. Today was not a good day to get into conversation with the diner's patrons. All she wanted was to get through the rest of the shift and go home.

And that's when she saw him walk through the door.

* * *

At first he didn't recognise the harried waitress winding her way skilfully around tables, delivering food, and clearing away empty plates and glasses. She wore a pair of police-issue trousers and he glimpsed the outline of a Kevlar vest under her blue shirt and apron. Her shoulder-length dark hair was falling from its elastic, framing her high cheekbones and tumbling constantly into her eyes. A practised smile graced her face, made a little strained due to the black thread that held closed the gash on her left cheek. There was no light in her brown eyes to match the smile. She looked weary, too weary to be on her feet running around, serving impatient diners who didn't seem to notice or care that she was the only waitress working.

Bosco paused just inside the doorway when she looked up toward the sound of the small bell over the door. Her expression seemed to get more tired but she only nodded at the single empty seat in the whole place, a stool along the counter. Without a word – as if he could have been heard over the buzz of conversation – Bosco picked his way to the counter. There were chattering people everywhere around. It felt claustrophobic and cramped, but he managed to set aside his discomfort.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Decaf or regular?"

"Regular's fine."

"Just a second." Deschaine's smile slipped as she gathered up the plates from the newly vacated space next to him. "You're early, Bosco. It's not twelve yet. _Yes,_ Mr DiMatthews. I'll be just a minute."

"Sarah, quit gabbing, there's another order up."

Bosco winced at the edge in her father's tone but Deschaine spared the moment to fill up a ceramic mug with steaming coffee and set it on the counter. She seemed unfazed by the gruff command. She'd been right about this place being packed. It was a madhouse. How could she handle all this chaos so calmly? A newfound respect for her blossomed. She was good under pressure and this must be why. He thought about how poorly he had been treating her with a hot rush of shame. His partner was patient and easygoing but he was taking every offer of friendship she made and throwing it back into her face. Their partnership was teetering dangerously on the edge. It was his fault and his responsibility to pull it back to safer ground. He had to admit that he liked Deschaine more than he had first wanted to. She seemed to know when to give him room to breathe if he needed it. His childish anger over her un-submitted request to rejoin the paramedics' squad had almost succeeded in driving her off, the one person who really gave a damn.

A surprised yelp echoed over the chattering diners, bringing a swift halt to conversations as if somebody had muted all sound. Bosco spun around on his stool to see Deschaine hit her knees next to a table, scooping up broken glass with her apron. A red-faced woman was on her feet with a fresh grease stain on her white blouse.

"Clumsy!" The woman screeched. "This is a new blouse!"

"Sorry ma'am. I really am."

"You're going to pay for a new one!"

Deschaine kept her face averted as she swept the pieces of the plate and scattered food onto her empty tray. Bright crimson flared across her face. Bosco felt for her. Anybody could see she was embarrassed enough without the woman making it worse.

"What's going on out here?"

"Your waitress dropped a plate on me!" The woman flailed out one arm, pointing at Deschaine. Her hand smacked against the full coffee mug on the table and knocked it over. Coffee spilled onto the table and flowed down onto the waitress still kneeling on the floor. Deschaine let out a half-strangled cry of pain as the scalding liquid came into contact with her arm and soaked through her shirt and pants. The whole diner seemed to gape in shock when she sprang to her feet and fled for the kitchen, her left hand protectively covering her burned forearm.

"Incompetent girl, she's left all that glass on the floor." The woman said, incredibly callous to the painful injury she had just caused.

Bosco had heard and seen enough. He abandoned his stool and followed his partner's direction of flight, pretending that he didn't hear her father's promise to the woman of a free meal and a new blouse. "Deschaine?"

A cook pointed toward a door across the kitchen. Bosco headed that way without hesitation and found his partner sitting on a narrow concrete step, a soaked rag pressed to her burned forearm. She held the injured limb close to her body in an instinctive effort to protect it. Tears of either frustration or pain trickled down her cheeks.

"I don't want company right now."

"I know." He joined her on the edge of the step, taking care not to brush against her injured arm.

"Then go away."

"I don't think you want to be alone, either."

Deschaine lifted the rag from her arm and winced at the glaring red burn. "Since when are you Mister Sensitive?"

"Since I realised I was letting my partner down."

"Your partner. I thought you didn't want to be paired up anymore."

"I changed my mind."

"Just like that?"

"I thought about what you said and what Sweeney said. You're both right. I have to grow up a bit to make it here." Bosco replied, glancing at her. "I've been an ass to you."

"Yes you have."

"And I'm sorry for it." Surprisingly, the apology didn't stick in his throat like he thought it would. She didn't answer right away. He reached hesitantly for her burned arm. "How bad is it?"

"I'll live."

Bosco touched the unburned skin of her forearm hesitantly, deciding suddenly to take a chance. "Deschaine, I made a mistake when I asked to ride with Sweeney. I thought I needed a change of pace."

She looked down at his hand, her fingers trembling on the rag over the burn. "And that was too slow for you?"

"A bit. I like ridin' with you, Deschaine, and I wondered if you'd be my partner still." He pulled his hand back and stood up. "That's all I wanted to say." Deschaine was silent as he opened the fire-door leading to the kitchen. It would be well within her right to let him walk away. He'd understand if she didn't say anything.

"Bosco, wait." Her tired, tear-streaked face reflected a deep hurt. "I wasn't really mad at you. You're, you're a very frustrating person to deal with. I'm having a hard time figuring out how to handle you."

"I'm not easy to get along with, I know. It's not like I haven't been trying though. You can believe it or not, but I'm trying."

The fire door banged open to reveal Deschaine's red-faced father. "You _dumped_ a plateful of steaming hot scrambled eggs and bacon onto a customer?"

"Is it my fault for stumbling over her purse, which she _had_ to leave out where people were bound to trip on it?"

"You're responsible for what happens on the floor. I have to pay for her to get a new blouse now and you know I can't afford extra expenses like that."

"No, actually I _don't_ know that." Deschaine replied. "And I can't say that I really care, either."

"I don't have time for your attitude. Get back in here, there's still a backload of orders that need to go out."

Bosco tensed, watching his partner get slowly to her feet. Her father was asking for trouble. He started to step forward and get between father and daughter, but Deschaine waved him down. "I'm going to the hospital. You can cover the floor, you did it before I got here."

"The hospital? What the hell for?"

"I got burned, _Dad._ Maybe you didn't notice that she knocked over a whole cup of coffee, but I sure as hell did. I'm going to the hospital and then I'm going home to get ready for my next shift." Deschaine handed the damp rag to Bosco, untied her apron, and pulled off the blue T-shirt. She flung the two items at her father and stormed past him, back into the kitchen. After a moment of stunned silence, Bosco followed. She was quite a sight, wearing only her Kevlar vest and a white tank top underneath. Her dark blue trousers swished an angry rhythm as she crossed the busy kitchen to the office in the corner. She only paused long enough to grab her sweatshirt before striding quickly to the door leading to the dining area.

"Sarah!" Her father's gruff bark came too late. Deschaine had crossed the threshold to the diner proper. Bosco followed her, his moment of surprise long since over, the damp rag she had given him still in his hand.

"Deschaine!"

His partner gave no indication that she had heard him. The front door closed behind her with a thump. Startled patrons stared after her, shocked to see their waitress storming out of the diner with a ballistic vest covering her torso. Bosco wove hurriedly through the tables to reach the door. He wasn't going to catch her if he didn't move faster. Deschaine was across the street, just starting to get into her truck. Crap.

"Deschaine!" He sprinted out into traffic, oblivious to the cacophony of car-horns. "Wait a minute!"

"I'm not in the mood to talk anymore, Bosco."

"I think you need to."

She glared at him around the open door of her truck. "Now you're the sensible one here? In case you haven't missed it, I'm having a really crappy day. Let go of my arm and hit the sidewalk. I need to go to the hospital."

"I'm going with you." The statement sped between his lips before his brain even registered that he had strung the four words together into a sentence. His partner opened her mouth to respond, then the familiar dark cloud of weariness settled over her face and she sighed.

"Fine. Get in."

He hustled around the vehicle and stepped up into the cab without a word. Deschaine did not spare a second to glance at the beefy man in the grease-splattered apron who appeared on the sidewalk. She stepped on the gas and sent her truck into traffic at a speed that was just a little bit too fast.

"You came out here just to say you wanted to be partners again?"

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

Bosco let out a quiet sigh. "Well, no. Not really. There's something that you need to know, about why I left New York. I've been trying to keep it to myself, but it's just too hard. I can't keep living a lie."

"So you've been lying to me?"

"In more ways than you know."

Deschaine's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "For how long?"

Why did this have to be so hard? "Since you first asked about my old job."

Tense silence took over. His partner stared at the road, an angry expression twisting her face. Bosco understood her emotions. It wasn't easy to find out that your partner had been lying to you.

"Look, I know you're probably hating me right now, but – "

"You said you wanted to talk. Fine. I'll listen, but not now. It really is _not_ the best time for you to expect an attentive ear from me," she interrupted. "As for you and me riding together, sure. Why the hell not? I don't have anything better to do than babysit you all shift."

Bosco took the barb without comment. He knew he deserved it for being an ass to her, but it still rankled that she could so insensitive to the fact that he was actually showing her that he was vulnerable.

"Stay in the waiting room when we get to the hospital. I won't be long."

"Sure."

Deschaine glanced at him, her expression softening. "Listen, Bosco. I don't mean to be snappish. I'm just really tired. Don't take it personally."

"I don't." He was surprised to see the faint glimmer of liquid in her eyes. "Deschaine, it's all right. I get it."

"I'm not the easiest person to get along with either. It's kind of amazing that you and I work together as well as we do, considering." She told him. "I guess… whatever reasons you have for keeping secrets are completely valid. Who am I to be mad at you for protecting yourself like that?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I've been thinking of my own crap so much I think I've forgotten to think of my partner. To be honest, I really do like you. You're a damn good cop."

She mustered a grin. "Same to you. I haven't had a partner who's kept me on my toes as much as you have."

"Was that a compliment?" Bosco felt a rush of pleasure when her hesitant grin grew into a smile.

"Yes it was."


	12. Illusions

Hey guys. Sorry I've been gone for so long. Don't worry, I'm not dead!

Once again, thank you for the reviews.

* * *

Beads of hot perspiration trickled down the back of her neck only to be soaked up by the thin fabric of the T-shirt she was wearing. Her fingers were curled tightly around a metal bar, the object of her exertions. It took all her strength to move herself even slightly out of the padded wheelchair. She couldn't do it, but she hated to admit that out loud, let alone to herself. Her arms ached and burned. It was madness to keep trying. Faith readjusted her grip on the bar and ordered her screaming muscles to tighten, to haul her weight up out of the chair. 

It was inevitable that her grip would fail. The physical therapist was quick to spring forward and kept the wheelchair from skidding out from under her. Defeat put a bitter taste in her mouth. She had been at this for days and her progress was minimal, at best. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I think we're done for today."

"Can I try one more time?"

"No. Overexerting yourself will only hamper your progress in the long run."

"Of course. _If_ I ever run again, right?"

The therapist chose to ignore Faith's comment and wheeled her toward the door. "Your husband is waiting outside. I'll see you next week."

"Great. Another hour-long session of failure."

"You know, with that attitude, you _won't_ ever run again."

"Ready to go, Faith?" Fred asked, taking control of the wheelchair from the therapist. Faith didn't even have time to glare at the woman for her remark before the therapy room door clicked shut behind her. Where did some people get the nerve…

"I ordered pizza for the kids for dinner."

"Good."

"How'd it go?"

"Good."

"That's it? Just good?"

"Yeah. Just good. The same as always."

Fred lifted her into the passenger's seat of the truck without speaking. She waited, staring stubbornly at her useless legs. This had to be a curse or punishment of some kind.

"I really think you should go see that psychologist."

"I don't need to see a shrink, Fred."

"Come on, Faith. You're not getting any better by sitting at home and feeling sorry for yourself."

"Is that what I've been doing? Just sitting around like a bum?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you meant it, right?"

He started the truck. "I'm not having this argument with you."

"So, what, do we forget that there's even a problem and get on with our lives?"

"I don't know, Faith. Is there a problem at all?"

She waved a hand at her legs in disgust. "_Yes_, there is a problem."

"Then why don't you do something about it?"

"I – " Faith stopped in mid-sentence, realising that he'd manoeuvred her neatly into a corner. "I don't need to see a shrink."

"Fine," he replied. "That pizza should have been delivered already. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

_And so it goes._ Faith thought, resting her head against the passenger window. _Yet another scene in the play from hell._

* * *

"Ready to go yet?" Bosco asked, uncertainly leaning against the locker bank. 

"Yeah."

"Come on. We'll be late."

His partner heaved herself off the bench and followed him. She didn't look any less tired or stressed. The problem with that detective had yet to be resolved. It was clearly still bothering her. She hadn't talked about it to him since showing up at his apartment and he'd respected her silence by not asking any questions.

Truth be told, she looked like hell. He had a sinking feeling that she hadn't even reported any of this mess to a supervisor. How could anyone report another cop for stalking, or anything like that? Bosco had no idea how she had managed to bear it this long without so much as a complaint. His partner stumbled on the last step leading to the lobby, but he was quick to steady her. Personally, he'd like nothing better than to confront that detective about this himself, but that would only cause even more trouble.

"Hey Deschaine. You feelin' all right?"

"Yes sir."

Lieutenant Coulter lifted an eyebrow at the obviously weary officer but only shook his head. Bosco wondered at the supervisor's silence as he took a seat. His partner was _not_ all right, so why didn't somebody bother to find out what was wrong?

"Narcotics has gotten a line on the guy who hit Deschaine the other day. He was seen with a couple of known dealers near West Broadway and D Street earlier today. They're going to pick the whole group up in an hour. All uniforms are to stay away. Understood?" Webber looked directly at Deschaine, who was absently running her fingertips over the stitches on her cheek.

"Yes sir," she replied, verbalising acknowledgment for the other cops.

"Good. Fire Department's holding a training session down near Columbus Park today. They'd appreciate it if they weren't bothered by cops lookin' to shoot the breeze." This time Coulter looked over at Campbell and Mullen, who were sitting side by side. The two cops grinned innocently. "That's it."

Deschaine tried to get up from her seat but the half-hearted effort failed miserably. Other cops paused to glance at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. She forced a smile, doing her best to assure her fellow officers despite barely being able to keep her eyes open. Bosco stood nearby, carefully watching but saying nothing.

"You don't look all right, Deschaine." Coulter said. "Take the day off."

"I'm fine, Lieu. I just didn't sleep too well last night."

"You haven't been sleeping too well for the last week. Go home and get some rest. _Go_ home."

"Yes sir." Deschaine rubbed both hands over her face, barely stifling a yawn.

"C'mon." Bosco offered a hand to her but she stood up without accepting his help. He followed her closely as she walked to the radio desk to return the radio, feeling Lieutenant Coulter's eyes on his back. Was he supposed to ride solo for the shift? Or would he end up with some hardass like Sweeney? The thought made him shudder.

"I'll wait out here for you," he said as they entered the locker room. "Then I'll give you a ride back to your place."

"Yeah."

Bosco turned to step back through the door, wondering – not for the first time – what else he could do to help out his partner.

"Oh God."

The hushed dread in her voice stopped him cold. Bosco sensed the sudden tension in his partner as he crossed the room in a few long strides, a slight, worried frown creasing his brow. She was staring at the wire mesh locker bank against the wall. Or, more specifically, at her own locker. A white envelope was taped to the door, with her name written on it in careful handwriting. Deschaine started to tremble, unable to take this latest affront. Bosco guided her firmly to the bench.

"I'm getting Coulter."

This time she offered no argument.

* * *

"Yo, Davis." 

"What?"

"Catch."

Davis grabbed the small package from the air, before it could sail past him and hit the floor. "What's this?"

"Open it up and find out." Matt Deschaine dropped into the nearest seat, stretching his legs out casually. "I think you'll like it."

"Aww, how sweet. Davis got a present!" Jake Bell teased as he came into the roll call room, his partner following. "Let's see what it is, man."

"It's not a present," Davis protested.

"Open it, man. Come on."

With a grin, Davis opened the box's cover. "What's this, Deschaine?"

"Gift from my sister. I don't know what made her think sending food was a smart idea, but you New Yorkers do eat the strangest things."

"Whatever, man."

"Enjoy it. I got some too." Matt told him, digging a pack of gum from his jacket pocket.

"All right people, let's settle in. Not much going on tonight. Car assignments are the same. Keep an eye on the weather. Latest report says we're going to get some rain. Eyes and ears. That's all."

"Damn, Deschaine, this is good stuff." Davis said, chewing on a hunk of brownie. "Your sister is pretty cool."

"Yeah. She's a good person."

"Hey man, what's with the long face? You got a sweet piece of brownie there, why look like you just ate glue?"

Matt shrugged. "No reason."

"Okay. It's your day to ruin." Jamie O'Shea shrugged and followed his father out into the lobby.

"Come on, Deschaine. Let's get going."

The rookie led the way out of the room without a word, leaving Davis to wonder if there really was something going on. Matt was never this quiet. Was it something he'd said about the kid's sister?

"Anythin' going on with you?"

"Nah, man, it's good."

"You can tell me, you know."

"Yeah. I know." Matt folded himself into the passenger's seat. "I got it under control. Nothin' to worry about."

"If you say so." It wasn't any use to argue, the rookie wouldn't tell him anything unless he felt like it. Davis started the RMP with a sigh. Being kept in the dark about something that had the potential to become a major problem and distraction was not a good thing. He could only hope that his new partner would choose to discuss it at some point. It was all he could hope for, actually.

* * *

Coulter's face went from a normal flesh tone to bright scarlet faster than Deschaine would have thought humanly possible. He forced his hands open and let out a long breath, the effort to keep his temper clearly failing. "He's _what?_" 

"Stalking me, sir." It was unnerving how easy it was to talk about the whole mess now, after recounting the story twice before. "For the past week or so."

"And you're just now reporting it?"

"It, it wasn't worth reporting until now, sir."

"That's crap, Deschaine." Coulter retorted, jabbing a finger at the note still taped to her locker. "I'd like to know when one of my officers is being harassed by another cop!"

"I just want it to stop, Lieu."

"It'll stop, Deschaine. You can bet on that. I'll speak to Lieutenant Brennan myself. This son-of-a-bitch won't work another shift at this station."

Deschaine shook her head slowly, careful to avoid aggravating her headache further. "Is there any way to keep this from being public? I don't want the guys thinking I'm a snitch."

"That will be hard if you're serious about resolving this, Deschaine."

"Can you find a way, sir?"

Coulter sighed. "I'll try. Go home and get some rest. I'll have this note bagged and dusted as soon as possible. Boscorelli will drive you to your apartment. I don't expect to see you back here until Wednesday, at the earliest. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Boscorelli, I expect you to escort her to the door of her apartment."

"Come on, Lieu, I'm not that helpless."

"Take no chances. He's escorting you to your door."

"Got it, Lieu." Bosco said.

"Good. Go home, Deschaine." Coulter cast a final glare at the note on the locker before making his way to the door. Deschaine unclipped the shoulder mike from her jacket and pulled the radio out of its carrier.

"Can you take this back to the desk for me? I'll go wait outside by the cruiser."

"Sure."

She followed her partner out of the locker room and passed him on her way down the stairs to the lobby. Outside, the overcast sky blanketed the city with a lingering sense of gloom. How fitting. Instead of waiting for Bosco by the car as she had said, Deschaine headed off down the sidewalk. It was only a few blocks to the firehouse on D Street and there was somebody there who she trusted more than anyone else.

"Deschaine?" Bosco's concerned voice echoed over the chatter of people on the sidewalk around her. "Deschaine!"

Her stride lengthened. He didn't know which direction she'd taken and she was determined to keep him from spotting her. There was nothing more he could do to help her. Not at the moment, anyway. She only hoped he wouldn't be too disgusted with her for disappearing.

It seemed as though the five blocks to the firehouse passed in a heartbeat. She knew this building well. Her first assignment as a city employee had been here. The firefighters who called this building for eight hours each day were some of the best people she had ever known. Deschaine paused at the door, drawing in a steadying breath. She hadn't seen her first partner in almost a month. Hopefully he was still assigned to this Engine Company.

"Can I help you, Officer?" A young firefighter asked from his post at the desk near the door.

"Thanks, but I'm all set. I know my way around."

The kid looked uncomfortable. "Um, I can't let you into the house without knowing what your business here is."

This was too precious. "Come on, I'm only looking for Ian O'Shaughnessy. He's probably upstairs watching TV like he always does."

"I can't – "

"Hey, look who found her way back!"

Deschaine grinned despite the headache that the gesture caused. "Good to see you, Durham. Is O'Shaughnessy around somewhere? I have to talk to him."

"Yeah, he's upstairs. I'll send him down."

"Thanks."

"Good to see you. Hang out for a second. The midget will be right down."

She grinned as Durham moved out of sight to the stairs. "Midget" was a surprisingly accurate description of the firefighter she had come to see. At five-eight, he was no taller than she was, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in heart, part of the reason she considered him one of her few close friends.

"Sarah! What brings you down to our humble corner of the world?"

Deschaine returned the hug O'Shaughnessy offered. "Is there someplace we can talk? I have something to tell you."


	13. Stepping Up

This chapter will focus on Bosco and Deschaine, rather than being a split between Boston and New York. Next chapter will feature Davis, Faith, and company.

Thanks again for the feedback.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" Bosco's angry voice seemed to echo over the chatter of sidewalk traffic, causing her to wince involuntarily. She had been at pains to avoid her partner since giving him the slip the day before, both unplugging the phone and refusing to answer the door. It must have really irritated Bosco to be unable to reach her, but she had needed to disconnect from the world for a day. That night, Ian had stopped by, as he'd promised to. The firefighter had stubbornly ignored her protests that she was fine in her own apartment and had all but dragged her out the door. It was nice that he felt it necessary to disrupt his normal routine by allowing her to stay with him, but at the same time, the gesture unnerved her. 

"Dammit, Deschaine, I've been trying to find you for over a day!"

There wasn't any use in avoiding him any longer. Deschaine adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, stopping long enough for Bosco to catch up to her. She knew he was upset with her, but that couldn't be helped. Ian had agreed when she'd said that the less people who knew where she was, the better. "I wasn't home."

"I noticed!"

"Look, do you want something? I'm kind of on a schedule."

Bosco's scowl deepened. "I was supposed to make sure you got home. You heard what Lieu said."

"Yes, I know. I'll talk to Coulter when I go back to work." Deschaine sighed, knowing this was not how she wanted this conversation to go. "I have to go, Bosco. There's somebody waiting for me."

"Your firefighter, right?"

The question stopped her dead in mid-stride. _Her_ firefighter? Where did he get that idea? "He's not _my_ firefighter. We were partners back when I was a medic and he's helping me out. Is that against the law or something, Bosco?"

"I got in trouble because you took off. _That_ is a problem."

"You're still in one piece, which won't last if you don't go away."

Her partner glared at her. "I'm trying to help you, Deschaine."

"Yeah, well, don't. You're only gonna make it worse."

"I don't get you. One minute, you're more than willing to let me help and the next it's like I'm the one tryin' to hurt you."

She returned his glare with an even stare. "I let you help because you were the first person I could think of. I hardly know you, so it's a little bit hard to trust you."

"You trust me enough to tell me that you're being stalked," Bosco replied bluntly. "I don't see what's changed here."

"That was desperation. I was scared, Bosco."

"And you're not any less afraid now?"

"More than you know." Deschaine sighed. "I have to go. I've got to stop at home and then head downtown. I've got an appointment to keep."

"I'm coming too."

"No. You've done all you can. I appreciate it, but you can't help anymore."

"Deschaine."

She ignored him as she moved away into the crowd. There wasn't anything else that her partner could do except get in the way and she wasn't about to let him go down with her.

* * *

A strange sensation tickled the back of her neck as she entered her building, keys in one hand. It was almost like she was being watched, but a quick survey of the well-lit lobby revealed that she was the only one on that floor. She hadn't noticed anyone paying her undue attention outside. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. 

The prickling feeling intensified as she neared the top of the stairs. Deschaine did her best to reassure herself that there was no reason to be uneasy, unlocking the door of her apartment and entering. She was perfectly safe here. Nobody would dare breach her privacy by entering her apartment without her knowledge and permission. Nobody.

That tingling reached her spine as she looked around. Something was different in here. She wasn't sure what, but there was something different. Something had changed. "Scooter?" Deschaine called out, listening for the familiar patter of double-paws crossing the carpet. Nothing but silence. One hand slipped to her belt, where she wore her off-duty gun. The weapon slid noiselessly from its holster and she carefully set down her duffel bag. "Ian?"

There was little chance that her former partner would be here. He was on-duty at the firehouse. Deschaine hugged the wall separating her bedroom from the living room, her gun held at low-ready. The kitchen was almost directly across from the front door but she could only see the stove and part of the counter. "Scooter?" She called again, darting across the floor toward the kitchen. Nothing. She waited half a heartbeat before ducking through the doorway.

Empty. Good. Deschaine stepped back into the living room. A second later, she learned the bathroom was clear too. As she pushed aside the curtain hanging in the doorway to her bedroom, it seemed like every little hair on the back of her neck decided to stand on end in the same moment. Her heart started to hammer as she swept the room. Here. Something was different, something was wrong, and it was in here. After only a second, her eyes fell on the folded piece of paper propped against the pillows on her bed. Her knees started to tremble and she reached for the wall to support herself. That sick bastard had been in her apartment, _in her bedroom._ She sank to the floor, her off-duty gun slipping from her fingers to come to rest on the carpet beside her. Long minutes ticked by and she couldn't move. He'd been here, in her most personal of spaces. How could this have happened? Silent tears stained her cheeks. What now, what was she supposed to do now? He'd been in her apartment… he'd been here… She stared at the far wall, her gaze unfocussed and distant. _He was here._ The sentence ran around her mind, a runaway train on a circular track. _He was here._ What now? What now? It was as if all her energy had simply been drained, vanished like the glow from a lightbulb that had suddenly burnt out. _What now?_ She didn't move. She couldn't. Her whole body was numb.

And that was how Bosco found her.

* * *

His partner was hard to figure out. One minute she was all but begging him to help her and the next she acted like she hardly had just met him. What was her deal? Bosco silently fumed at her apparent unwillingness to continue allowing him to help. That was his job as her partner. Did she expect him to just stand by and watch her go down? If she did, she was in for a big surprise. 

She said she was heading back to her apartment. Fine. He'd followed her there after shift one night to make sure that she got there okay. Doing so might make some think he was stalking her too, but his intentions were not malicious in any way – at least toward her. Bosco had almost hoped that the jag-off detective who _was_ stalking her would be doing the same so he could have a 'talk' with him. The notion of that sicko actually being on the street, watching his partner's every move, and live out whatever twisted fantasy was dancing around his head was enough to make Bosco want to throw up. This bastard needed to go down.

Deschaine made no detours or stops on her way back to her apartment, a fact that disturbed him. She knew very well that somebody was following her, with the possible intention of hurting her. Why didn't she at least try to shake pursuit? Did she _want_ something to happen? Bosco paused on the sidewalk near her building, waiting for her to enter. She didn't know he'd been tailing her and he didn't want her to find out. At least not yet.

It was easy to slip through the front door before it clicked shut. She never noticed that it didn't close right away. Bosco stepped behind the soda machine that sat near the door, narrowly avoiding her gaze as she scanned the lobby before starting up the stairs to the second floor. If she didn't know, then she at least suspected that somebody was in the lobby. Bosco's unease deepened when she continued up the steps instead of double-checking. His partner was not paying close enough attention to what was going on around her. It was going to get her in trouble.

There was nothing but silence, heavy, expectant silence, hanging in the air when he reached the second floor. He saw his partner move out of sight through a doorway and he carefully headed down the hallway toward the apartment. Whether or not she was the type to relock her door after entering was unknown to him. At any rate, he'd find out in a minute.

He knocked cautiously, after listening for any sound from within. There was nothing. Wait. His partner called out for somebody, her tone questioning. Scooter? Who the hell was Scooter? Was she expecting somebody to be there, only to find out now that that person wasn't present? A ripple of unease shivered through him. Something was wrong. Bosco rested his knuckles against the door, waiting for an acknowledgement that wasn't to come. Hesitantly, he knocked a second time, then tried the doorknob. It turned without protest and he eased the door open.

"Deschaine?"

Nothing but silence. Bosco took a moment to kneel and free his off-duty weapon from its holster on his lower leg. He gave the kitchen and then the bathroom a cursory scan. Nothing, as he'd hoped. The bedroom was next. He sucked in a calming breath and pushed aside the curtain.

His partner was slumped against the wall, her own off-duty gun lying on the floor next to her. She was staring off into space, her face pale. Bosco looked around and at once spotted the folded piece of paper on the bed, white against the soft maroon of the comforter. _That sick bastard…_

"Deschaine?"

"He was here." Her voice was barely a whisper and he had to crouch beside her to hear. "Here, in my room. He was here."

"It's okay. We're gonna stop him." He couldn't think of anything else to say. "Come on. You've got an appointment downtown, remember?"

Deschaine blinked slowly, eventually turning her gaze from the far wall to him. "Yeah… I'll get there."

"I'll take you. Come on."

"I have to stop somewhere first."

* * *

"Ian." 

The firefighter paused in his work, glancing over his shoulder toward the curb. "Sarah?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I'm working – " his gaze fell on the crumpled piece of paper clenched in her hand. "Yeah, just a second."

"Hey, O'Shaughnessy!"

"Gimme a minute, Lieu."

Deschaine shifted from foot to foot, uneasily looking around. Bosco was standing near his car, waiting like he'd promised. She looked down at the paper. "I found this on my bed this afternoon, when I stopped at home to drop off my uniforms."

"It's from…?"

"Yeah."

Ian took the note from her and unfolded it, quickly reading the brief message. "'How was your night with the bucketboy? I hope you both had a good time. It won't last.'" His face darkened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Was that sick bastard listening at the door?"

"I don't know, Ian. I don't, I don't _know_. I'm really getting scared now."

"This crap has to stop. Who's this guy's CO?"

"Ian, don't – "

"Hey, no cowardly son-of-a-bitch messes with my girl and gets away with it." The firefighter stuffed the note into a pocket. "Hey Lieu! I need the rest of the shift off. Personal emergency."

"O'Shaughnessy!"

"Ian, don't do it. Please."

"This bastard needs to be stopped, Sarah," he said, fast-walking toward his beat-up Ford Explorer. "You say you want it to end, yet you're not willing to step up and do anything. Fine. I _will._"

"Dammit, Ian, I don't want this getting out!"

Ian stopped in mid-stride and spun toward her. "It's gonna come out whether you want it to or not. You know damn well I'd stick my neck out for you, that's why you told me in the first place. You needed somebody who'd protect you, and you knew I would. Let me do that."

She was silent for a long time, emotions flickering across her face like an out-of-control slideshow. At length, she said, "No punches, Ian. Don't make this worse than it already is."

"I won't throw anything unless he does."

"Promise?"

"My word as one of Boston's bravest."

"I'll owe you one."

"You can make it up to me later," he replied smoothly.

* * *

"Lieutenant Brennan." 

It was a statement, not a question. The head of the detective squad eyed the man standing in his doorway. Now what? Not two hours before, he'd been confronted with Deschaine's ridiculous claim that Patrick Harris was stalking her. That was utterly laughable. Harris was his best detective and on the top of the list for transfer to a better assignment. Why would the man put his whole career at risk over some discontented street cop?

"Permission to enter, sir."

"Come in."

The man stepped smartly forward, coming to a stop three feet from Brennan's desk. For a moment, Brennan wondered why his visitor felt it necessary to stand at attention, then he took in the close-cropped "high and tight" haircut and the tattoo barely visible under the man's left shirt sleeve. Of course. "At ease, Marine. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to file a complaint against one of your detectives, sir." The Marine answered, relaxing his stance.

"What's the nature of your complaint?"

"Harassment, sir, of a city employee."

Brennan set down his pen abruptly, bringing his angry glare to meet the other man's level stare. "And I suppose the detective in question is Patrick Harris?"

"Yes sir."

"I will not tolerate this hoax any longer. Patrick Harris is _not_ harassing anyone, he is _not_ stalking anyone. The next person who comes in here spouting that crap-story will get charged with filing a false complaint on the spot. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir. I understand that you're dismissing out-of-hand a serious allegation against one of your detectives, which is why I would like to file – "

* * *

" – a grievance against Lieutenant Brennan for failure to file two separate complaints against Detective Harris. I'd also like to file a complaint against Detective Harris for harassment on behalf of Officer Sarah Deschaine and I submit this written statement, made and signed by Officer Deschaine in the presence of myself and Mr John Richards, as proof of the repeated efforts made by Officer Deschaine to have this harassment stopped." 

Bosco watched Brennan's reaction go from anger to surprise before the Detective Lieutenant hid his emotions behind a mask of casual neutrality. Patrick Harris, on the other hand, appeared very calm and unruffled by the whole thing. The detective's coolness impressed Bosco, but it gave him chills at the same time. Sitting almost within arm's reach was the jackass who was causing his partner so much trouble. He'd like nothing better than to knock the coolness off the man's face.

The presence of his partner's lawyer in the district commander's office had clearly caught everyone off-guard. Deschaine and her firefighter boyfriend – or whatever the guy was to her – stood behind the lawyer, as did Bosco. All three had been called in by Captain Driscoll, a move that Bosco didn't fully understand. He wasn't sure what part he played in this mess, but he supposed that he'd find out at some point.

"Furthermore, Officer Deschaine has applied for an order of restraint against Detective Harris. They will both receive notices as to when the approval hearing will be."

Captain Driscoll nodded calmly, but Bosco noted the slight reddening under the CO's collar. There would be hell and then some coming down on the two detectives. He laughed inwardly. It was the least they deserved.


	14. Decisions

Short chapter. Sorry for that, but writing Faith's POV during this timeframeis somewhat tricky. :-p

* * *

The rookie from Boston shifted restlessly in the passenger's seat, gazing out the window at the intermittently falling rain. He hadn't said four words since the beginning of the shift. Davis wondered what could possibly cause the normally up-beat rookie to fall into brooding silence. Not even Matt's buddy Jamie O'Shea had been able to coax him into talking.

"Are you up for some coffee?"

Matt's only reply was a grunt. He didn't even bother taking his eyes off the dreary scenery sliding past outside.

"You gonna be like this all night or what?"

"Be like what?"

"Quiet. It's not like you, man."

The brawny rookie just shrugged. "Just a bit tired. Nothing new."

"You've been tired for almost a week. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"Yeah, Davis, I'm pretty sure everything's cool. Shut up about it already."

Davis was taken back by the sudden vehemence in the rookie's voice. There _had_ to be something going on. He'd never heard that kind of anger come from Matt in the brief time he'd known him. "Look, I'm not trying to piss you off. I was only asking."

"Yeah, well, don't." Matt closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with a weary sigh. "I don't mean to be snappish. It's a family issue. I'm just glad I got tomorrow off."

"Why?"

"Gotta head north for the day."

"And…?"

"What, you want to get involved?"

Davis bit his lip, sensing that this was dangerous territory. "I don't know. Should I?"

"It's family business, but I don't think outside help would be a bad thing."

"'Outside help'?"

"Yeah. It's got to do with my sister. Our parents are next to useless – I don't even think she's told them. The only one who knows aside from me is her partner."

"Wait, who knows what?"

"Are you good for a trip to Boston?"

"Not unless I know why I should be going there."

Matt looked him in the eye for the first time all shift. "If she knew I was spreadin' this around, she'd kill me. She's been having trouble with one of the detectives. He's harassing her bad. She won't do anything about it, though, 'cause she's afraid of backlash from the guys." He shrugged. "She doesn't have to do anything. I sure as hell will."

"So you're turning vigilante?"

"Hardly. Just a little South Boston justice."

"I think I'll pass on that, Deschaine. Getting in the middle of trouble like that isn't my thing."

"Fine by me. I know a guy who'd be more than happy to go talk to this detective with me. We should be all set."

"You're just gonna talk to him, right?"

"This is my sister, Davis. What do you _think_ I'm gonna do? Send the guy flowers?"

Davis sighed, shaking his head. Was he just like this when he was a rookie? "C'mon, Deschaine. Jumping a _detective_ isn't really the best thing you can do for your career. I'm pretty sure that your sister is handling this herself."

"_No!_ That's the thing. She's _not_ doing a damn thing. This bastard is screwing up her life and _she's letting him._" The anger in Matt's voice was hot enough to boil water. "I'll be damned if I let some scum-sucking piece of Roxbury trash walk all over my sister like this. Hell no."

"Man, you're gonna get yourself into big trouble."

"Whatever. I'm willing to risk it."

"Then you're crazy. I'm telling you, Deschaine, it's not worth it."

Matt's glare might have peeled paint off a wall. "I don't give a damn if you think it's a bad idea or not. You're not gonna tag along so it's none of your business."

"Hey, it'll be my business when IAB comes around, asking if I know why my partner beat the crap out of a Boston police officer." Davis shot back.

"So you're my conscience now? Wonderful."

"Look, you do whatever the hell you think you have to. I don't care. Just make damned sure that it will not follow you back here. You may not give a damn about your career here, but I sure as hell do. If you go down for anything, don't expect me to take the fall with you."

"Your support is overwhelming."

"I'm just tellin' you how it is."

"Fine by me."

Tense silence crept back into the RMP. Davis silently fumed at his rookie partner's boldness and clearly volatile temper. He had no sympathy for the detective who was harassing Deschaine's sister, but Matt was only headed straight for major trouble. There was no doubt in Davis' mind that the rookie would do as he said. He certainly had a staunch sense of protectiveness for his older sibling. As admirable as that was, it couldn't do anybody any good. Davis was tempted to agree to the trip, just to try to keep his partner out of trouble.

"Look man – "

"Central, Five-Five David. Take an erratic vehicle complaint near the corner of Lexington and East 112th. Complainant advises that the vehicle is a red Toyota Camry, New York tag One-Seven-Five-David-Boy. Ten-three?"

"Five-Five David, ten-four, 112 and Lex." Davis answered as Matt activated the roof-mounted lights. This conversation would have to wait.

* * *

"Are you hungry?"

"Not right now. Maybe later."

Fred's questioning expression was reflected in his tone. "You haven't eaten all day, though."

"I'm fine."

"Okay."

She heard him retreat back to the kitchen. Truth be told, she _was_ hungry, but she didn't want to eat. She didn't want to do much of anything. Ever since Davis' new partner had appeared with his story, she had fallen into a state of half-shock, half-guilt. Bosco had abandoned everything he knew and loved in New York for Boston, a city unknown and alien to him. Why had it come to this?

Fred had been less than happy with her since she'd abruptly cancelled all planned therapy appointments, but he went along with it. It wasn't hard to guess that he wanted her to recover fully. She wasn't sure that his hopefulness was as strong as he pretended it was. Hers certainly had faltered badly. There just was not any reason that she could see to attend the therapy sessions. All that ever happened was the therapist saying that it could be months before there was any improvement. _As if I _don't_ already know this._

It was doubtful that she'd ever walk again. She was grudgingly beginning to accept that. Her initial determination to beat this paralysis was slipping away. What good was walking again if she had to get used to work again, and worse – if she had to break in a new partner? The last thing she wanted was another Bosco, another partner who was a close enough friend almost be a brother.

Faith plucked absently at the blanket covering her legs. Her two useless legs. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her sense of self-worth had spiralled down to nothing, almost as fast as a bullet slicing through flesh, bone, and muscle. There would be getting better. This was her life now, her reality. Reduced to surviving only with the help of others. What a marvellous existence. Who could have asked for anything better?

"Faith, I'm taking Emily over to a friend's. Will you be okay with Charlie while I'm gone?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I shouldn't be gone long."

She heard the front door open. It was good that Em was getting back into the groove of daily life. Anything to bring back a sense of normalcy to the apartment. At the same time, though, she couldn't help feeling jealous of her daughter's ability to go out when she pleased. Adjusting to this, her disability, continued to be problematic.

"Mommy!" Charlie came barrelling into the bedroom. "Emily says that Uncle B went somewhere far away and isn't coming back!"

_If only she knew how true that is._ "Of course he's coming back. Why wouldn't he?"

"Em said he isn't!"

"He'll come back, Charlie. He's Uncle B." Faith said. "Come here."

The boy obediently climbed up onto the bed. "When is he gonna come visit?"

"I don't know. He's busy with work right now."

"Well, can we go visit him, then?"

Faith pulled her son close to kiss his forehead. _Bless his heart._ "No honey."

"Why not?"

"Uncle B is very busy. We don't want to distract him, do we?"

Charlie shook his head. "That wouldn't be nice."

"No it wouldn't."

"So, can we at least call him?"

"Charlie." She sighed. Might as well tell him now, before this lie went on too long. But how to break the news to him? "Charlie, let me tell you a story."

* * *

There was uneasy silence in the locker room. Davis sat on the bench in front of his open locker, unloading his duty gun. His partner was standing on the other side of the bench, behind him. Doing his best to hold his tongue. Cursing his training officer. Planning his moves once he reached Boston. Davis didn't know and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. They never had finished their interrupted conversation. After the erratic vehicle complaint, the shift had been taken up by almost non-stop calls, broken only by an all-too-short meal break. There was little doubt in Davis' mind that Matt's anger would get him into trouble. That much was inevitable. There was also precious little that Davis could do to stop it, because he certainly didn't plan to give the Boston detective any sort of warning. As he thought about it, there was really only one viable option.

"Listen, Deschaine. About tomorrow – "

"I don't want to hear it. You've already made your point."

"No. I'll go."

There was a thump as Matt's duffel bag hit the floor. "What?"

"I'll go. I don't know anything about this feud or whatever it is, but somebody has to watch your back."

"I thought you didn't want to take the fall."

"I don't."

Matt cracked a grin. "I'm sure. You just wanna get outta this city for a day."

"That's a bonus." Davis grinned back, relieved that his rookie partner held no hard feelings. "So who's gonna drive?"

"Me, of course. Don't want you to get lost once we're past City limits. I'll pick you up at ten. Better be ready."

"You just be awake. I've seen you make it through shift half-asleep and that's not a pretty sight."

"Funny." Matt shut his locker. "You'll like Boston, man. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah." Davis dropped his gaze to the weapon still in his hands, wondering if perhaps he'd just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He prayed that he hadn't as he rose from the bench and placed the empty gun on the shelf in his locker. Tomorrow would tell for sure.


	15. The Breaking Point

Davis' day in Boston turns out differently than he expected.

* * *

"How're you feeling, Deschaine?"

The question was almost cliché. Sarah collected her nightstick and flashlight from underneath her chair, as other officers filed past her toward the door. Almost everyone had asked her that since she'd shown up for shift. She was fine. Everything was fine now. The court hearing wasn't until next week, but that was okay. Harris wouldn't dare bother her now that he'd been reported. It was unfortunate that Captain Driscoll couldn't suspend him from duty without compromising confidentiality.

"I'm good, Billy."

Tessier only nodded. He knew her about as well as the others, but he was good at knowing when something was wrong. It was likely he sensed her unease under the façade of confidence. Despite the action against Harris, she was still edgy, uncomfortable with the idea that they were still working out of the same station house.

"Come on."

She followed Bosco outside without replying. All she wanted was to get through the shift. No heroics, no undue paperwork. Just get it over with so she could go home. Ian was supposed to be at her apartment, 'standing watch', as he'd put it. He'd even called in sick to get the day off. Deschaine was flattered and embarrassed that he felt it necessary to go to such lengths for her. She had told him more than once that everything was okay. Then again, his protectiveness was why she'd involved him in the first place. Some people would say she merely using him and perhaps she was, in a way. The same way she could be accused of using Bosco. The truth was, they were both the only ones willing to step up and keep her safe. If that was 'using them', then so be it.

"You don't look so tired today."

"I'm not." She answered and it was true. Last night, she'd fallen asleep and hadn't woken up until two hours before shift. It was a relief to not feel so bone-weary. Of course, she'd also had a little help getting to sleep…

"Hey, are you listening?"

"What?"

"I said, do you wanna drive?"

"Oh. No, you can."

Bosco only shrugged, choosing silence over a verbal response. He started the cruiser as she tucked her gear along the bottom of the seat. His partner's uncharacteristic silence was strange. Even with the detective making a mess of her life, she had managed to maintain her usual cheerful behaviour, although it was more subdued than before. Her quiet now was unsettling. She was even letting him drive, something that had been strictly unallowable before. Although, he mused, as she gazed absently out the window, it was probably a good idea. He wondered what had helped her sleep, finally. Probably that firefighter. It was obvious that something was there, even if neither one cared to admit it. Bosco felt a measure of jealousy at that. He found his partner attractive, and had hoped that she thought the same of him. Apparently not. As long as this guy made her happy, he would have to be content with that.

"Anything in particular you wanna do?"

"Not really. I just want to get through the shift."

_Fair enough._ "So ducking calls is the order of the day?"

"More or less."

"You're the boss," he said, a little surprised that she agreed so quickly. She'd never so much as suggested laying low during shift. Either she was still tired or she really did want to keep the shift as uneventful as possible. That desire was one that he couldn't blame her for having. Anyone in her position would want the same.

"So how's your firefighter?"

"He's a good guy," she replied, and Bosco noted that she didn't deny that he was 'hers'. "He's stepped up big time for me."

_Good._ "I've noticed."

Deschaine offered him a smile, the first genuine one he'd seen grace her face for days. "Thank you, Bosco."

"For what?"

"For not letting me down."

His cheeks flushed hot. "We're partners, it's what partners do."

"I know, but… thanks."

"You're welcome," Bosco mumbled, embarrassed. Her gratitude was appreciated but he really hadn't done much of anything for her. In an effort to get the subject back on less touchy ground, he asked, "Interested in some coffee?"

"That'd be great."

"Coffee it is."

The cruiser glided along with traffic, a strangely comfortable silence covering its two occupants. For the first time since arriving in Boston, Bosco felt at home.

* * *

Matt Deschaine knocked firmly a second time, his expression giving away little. To Davis, it appeared that the rookie was more at ease here, in familiar surroundings. That was hardly a surprise. He'd been born here. Matt knew South Boston like Davis knew Upper Manhattan. Ever since arriving in the city, Matt had seemed to relax, both in manner and speech. He'd even called Davis by his first name. It was almost as if the younger man had assumed the role of senior cop.

"Hey, c'mon, O'Shaughnessy. Open up."

"Keep your damn pants on! I'm comin'!" An irritated voice called from within the apartment. The two men waiting outside shared a grin. It wasn't a big stretch of the imagination to guess that the apartment's occupant had been sleeping or otherwise engaged. Matt rapped at the door again, his mischievous grin suggesting he only wanted to stir up a little trouble.

"Let's go, you lazy Irish bum. We don't have all day here!"

Barely a second later, the door jerked open. Davis tried not to laugh at the short, lean man standing in the doorway. This was the help that Matt had enlisted?

"Hey, look who's back in town! Welcome home, man."

"Good to be back, even for a day. How's it goin', Ian?"

The man shrugged. "Could be better. I don't think Sarah knows you're up this way, though. Probably a good idea to get this business taken care of before she comes by for meal break."

"Probably. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Ian, this is Ty Davis, my training officer in New York. He's along for the ride."

"Ian O'Shaughnessy."

Davis suppressed a wince at the other man's grip. "Pleasure." Belatedly, he noticed the tattoos on O'Shaughnessy's bare arms and realised that maybe Matt knew just who to go for help after all. Marines were not the type to mess around with. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Hanson Street. Our good friend the detective lives over there."

O'Shaughnessy nodded. "Let me just grab a sweatshirt and we can get moving."

* * *

"So, when is your court date?"

"I don't know. The notice hasn't come yet. Hopefully it'll be soon."

Bosco nodded. "Yeah. Let me know when it is, I'll drive you to and from."

"You don't have to."

"I know, but I'll do it anyway."

Deschaine smiled slightly into her coffee cup. "I didn't expect all this support. It's kinda nice. Maybe everything will turn out okay after all, once the R.O. is approved. Not even Patrick will dare to defy the court."

"Boston, Six Adam, take an assault in progress, 96 Hanson Street, multiple combatants involved. Additional units responding."

"Crap." Deschaine was out of her chair and heading for the coffee shop door, leaving behind her half-full cup.

"You know that place?" Bosco asked, beating her to the driver's side.

"It's Patrick's apartment."

"So?"

"So I have a bad feeling I know what's happening over there." She replied. "Six Adam, Boston. 96 Hanson. Stand down additional units."

"Ten-four, Adam."

"You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"It's my brother. It's gotta be. I never told him that I got my lawyer involved. He still thinks I'm letting this happen."

Bosco guided the cruiser around a slow-to-yield SUV. "That's great. So much for a clean end to this."

"No crap. Take the next left. This one. Clear on the right."

Dammit, this was bad. Her brother's ignorance of the changed situation was about to ruin everything, if it wasn't already ruined. Bosco's foot got heavier on the gas pedal. Too much had happened for anyone to screw this up. Deschaine didn't deserve to go through all this crap again.

"There, there they are."

"Jump," was all he said as he brought the cruiser to an abrupt stop. His partner didn't need to be told. She was already half-way out of the car before it had completely stopped moving. Bosco sprinted after her.

The fight was horribly one-sided. Three guys were pounding on a fourth man, who fell even as the two officers approached.

"Break it up! Break it up!" He grabbed the first person within reach and flung them back, away from the fight. "Knock it off!"

"Matthew!" His partner had all but tackled the shortest one, pushing him into the side of the nearest building. "Ian!"

"Sarah?"

"Bosco!"

"_Davis?_"

Time froze as the combatants stared at the two cops, who stared back. Bosco couldn't believe it. Ty Davis was here, in Boston, helping beat the crap out of a scumbag detective. And here Bosco had thought that he was safe from his former fellow officers.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I _live_ here." Bosco countered. "I should have figured that somebody would show up here looking for me. Let me guess, Faith sent you."

"She doesn't even know I'm here. I came with my partner."

"Partner?" Bosco noticed the brawny guy standing near Deschaine, studying the torn flesh on his right hand. "Whoa, wait, you and Deschaine's brother are partners?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

Deschaine smacked her brother on the back of the head. "Shut up, Matthew. You're already in enough trouble."

"Who the hell are you, then? The tooth fairy?" The younger Deschaine demanded, ignoring his sister's warning.

"That's _my_ partner. Keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll have you in cuffs so fast you'll wonder what happened."

"Whoa, don't be protective of the guy or anything. Hey!"

"Sarah, hold on – "

"Shut it, Ian, or you're next," Deschaine snapped, skilfully pinning her brother against the building. "You're too much like Dad, Matthew. Denser than a post when you want to be."

Bosco's jaw dropped as his partner forcefully guided her now-handcuffed brother to the ground. He'd never seen her that angry before. He opened his mouth to say something, but O'Shaughnessy spoke up first.

"Come on, Sarah, I think you're over-reacting a little. Who really cares about that dirtbag?" The firefighter gestured carelessly at the bruised and bleeding detective, lying all but forgotten on the sidewalk.

"I _care_, because now I don't have a chance in hell of getting an R.O. against him. Thanks so much for ruining that. God dammit, Ian, you _knew_ that. You were there. I thought you, at least, would know better than to do something this stupid!"

"Whoa, what? You're going to court?"

"Yes, Matthew, I am. I was going to tell you that today, after work." A bitter smile twisted the corner of her mouth. "Guess there's no point to that anymore. I should have expected that you would pull something like this. You always were a little hot-headed."

"How the hell was I supposed to know what you were doing, Sarah? All I've heard from you is how that dirtbag has been making your life hell. Never _once_ did you say you were doing anything to stop it."

"_I told you to stay out of it._" Deschaine cried, her hands tightening into fists. "You're _this_ close to me carting your sorry ass back to the house for booking, brother or not."

The younger Deschaine's scowl faded away and he dropped his gaze to the ground. His sister turned her glare onto O'Shaughnessy, who was studying the knuckles of his hand. "Ian, I want to know _exactly_ what the hell possessed you to listen to my brother. I _asked_ you to not do anything like this. You promised you wouldn't."

"Sarah – "

"Is it so hard for anyone to do what I ask them to anymore?" Deschaine interrupted, and Bosco was startled to see tears trickling down her face. He took a step toward her, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she waved a hand at him dismissively. "I've asked both of you to help in every way but this – I've even begged you to avoid this – and you go ahead and do it anyway. How can I expect to trust anyone, when nobody bothers to respect my wishes?"

"I only thought – "

"You _thought_? Dammit, Ian, what's there to think about? I begged you to stay away from him. I _begged_ you. You gave me your word. Clearly your word is worthless."

"Sarah, I – " O'Shaughnessy began, but fell silent when Deschaine's open palm met his face.

"Shut _up_. You've already said and done enough. I thought I could trust you, Ian." The tears were like twin rivers over her cheeks now. "Thanks for proving that I can't."

The firefighter stared down at his boots, the crimson of shame colouring his face. Deschaine's brother kept his own gaze directed at the ground and Bosco noted that Davis had taken an interest in something across the street. He didn't know what to do or say to his partner that could lessen the deep hurt so painfully evident on her face.

"Take care of these… guys, Bosco. I can't, I can't deal with this anymore."

Nobody spoke as Deschaine all but fled back to the cruiser.

* * *

This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Davis felt rooted to the sidewalk as he watched the scene unfold before him. He didn't know the first thing about this situation, but simply watching Matt's sister fall apart made it clear that she was suffering badly. Her distress sent a pang of sympathy through him. Here was a woman who was being put through hell by the detective lying on the ground, half-unconscious, and who was just finding out that two men who had broken their promises to her. Davis marvelled at her effort to maintain herself, even as she laid the flat of her hand against O'Shaughnessy's cheek. Clearly her strength of will had not completely abandoned her.

Davis watched Bosco out of the corner of his eye, surprised to see unmasked concern on the former NYPD officer's face. Bosco had always been one of the last to show much emotion. How much had he changed in the few weeks since he'd left New York? This wasn't the same Bosco he knew. It couldn't be.

"Take care of these… guys, Bosco. I can't, I can't deal with this anymore."

The silence hanging over the sidewalk was thick with tension. With Deschaine's sister's departure, no one seemed inclined to speech. Davis looked down at the detective, still sprawled on the ground. He felt little more than contempt for the man, who thought it was somehow permissible to stalk and harass a fellow cop – or anyone, for that matter.

"All right, get up." Bosco reached down and helped Matt get to his feet. "Turn around."

"Take it easy!"

"Shut up, or these cuffs stay on."

Davis had to grin at that. That was classic Bosco. Some things never changed. "Hey Bosco. What do we do about him?"

"Who?" Bosco looked where Davis was pointing and shrugged. "Leave him."

"Okay." It was a perfectly good solution to him. Neither he nor O'Shaughnessy spared the downed detective a second glance as they stepped over him.

"Davis, c'mere for a second."

The request would not have struck Davis as odd, but for the irritation on Bosco's face. "What?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came up with Deschaine over there. He asked and I agreed."

"I thought I could get away from all of you."

"Hey man, I didn't plan on running into you. This was just a quick trip, up and back."

"Faith sent you, didn't she? I bet she wants to know if I've fallen flat on my face so she can make herself feel better."

"Bosco, she didn't send me anywhere."

"So are you saying she doesn't even know I'm here?"

"No, but – "

Bosco's face pinched. "Great. I bet loudmouth over there let it slip to the whole damn precinct."

"Hey, I don't have to take any crap from you – " Matt began, starting forward. O'Shaughnessy, sensing that that particular moment wasn't the best one for an interruption, reached out to hold him back.

"He didn't say anything that he wasn't asked or told to, Bosco."

"Oh, so Yokas asked him to spill and he did, right on the spot? That's great, that's just wonderful. Thanks, Davis."

Anger was slowly bubbling up. Davis felt the back of his neck start to warm. "Bosco, she wasn't even the first to know."

"Oh yeah? Then who was?"

"I was. I had him tell Faith what he knew. That's how she knows."

"Thanks, Davis. Thanks a lot." Bosco said. "I come here to get away from you people, and you find me anyway."

"Look, Bos, I wasn't even looking for you."

"Sure. Whatever."

"You gotta know that she didn't mean it, what she said."

The other cop's expression was impassive. "Uh-huh. Then she shouldn't have said it. I've got to get back to work, Davis. Get out of my city."

"Bosco. Come on, man. She misses you." Davis called after him. "At least call her. She wants to apologise."

Either Bosco didn't hear him or he didn't care enough to respond. It didn't matter. Davis only watched, silent in his frustration, as the other cop got back into the cruiser.

"Hey Davis. Let's go. Nothing more to do here."

"Yeah." Reluctantly, he looked away from the cruiser as it turned a corner and vanished from sight. Coming here had definitely been a mistake.


	16. Lessons in Uncertainty

My apologies for the long absence. This chapter went through quite a bit of editing.

Happy Memorial Day!

* * *

She thought about his reaction for a long time after he'd run from the room, loudly declaring that it was all a lie. She'd expected that. He and Bosco had a great relationship. Poor Charlie. He was just too young to understand the reasons. Truth be told, she didn't completely understand the reasons herself. How could she expect the boy to comprehend something she couldn't either? There was no point. There couldn't be. All of this had happened… and for what?

Faith wanted nothing than for this whole mess to simply go away. She wanted to go back to the way things used to be, when she was on the beat with her partner. Before she'd been shot. All that had transpired since that night from hell served only to burden her mind and spirit with weights that she never imagined could exist. There were times when she did nothing but stare at the wall, lost so deeply in her thoughts and clinging self-pity that hours could pass without her knowing. It was all too easy to while away the days in that fashion.

Charlie and Bosco always got along well. The boy all but idolised her former partner. Finding out that she had been the one that caused his hero to leave was the highest form of betrayal to him. How could she gain back his trust?

What was she supposed to do now? The secret was out, now, and it was only a matter of time before everyone knew just how big a fool she was. She sighed tiredly, plucking at a stray thread on the blanket. Her whole life seemed to be coming apart at the seams and there was nobody around to help put it back together. There were pieces scattering and falling everywhere and she couldn't get to them fast enough to keep them in place. Something had to happen soon, something had to come along to break this monotony before she slipped even further down this slope.

"Faith? Phone's for you." Fred entered the bedroom, the cordless phone in one hand. He didn't look her in the eye.

"Thanks," she answered quietly, pointedly waiting for him to leave the room. He probably knew that Charlie knew what had happened. It was a no-win situation. Again. "Hello?"

"Faith, it's Davis."

"Hey Ty. What's up?"

"I ran into Bosco earlier today."

* * *

"Are you here to make things even worse?"

Ian O'Shaughnessy's casual, almost nonchalant shrug was managed only with a supreme effort. He still felt like the worst kind of crap for what had happened earlier in the day. That was why he was standing at the door of Boscorelli's apartment, hands tucked out of sight in the pocket of his sweatshirt, doing his level best to appear calm. It was important that he didn't lose his temper.

"No. I'm here to help make things better."

Boscorelli scoffed at that, clearly unconvinced. "And I should believe you, why?"

"Because I'm the only one that can get Sarah out of this mess."

"How do you plan on pulling that off?"

Ian drew in a breath before replying. "I've known Sarah and Patrick for years. They used to get along fairly well, as well as a beat cop and a detective do, I guess. Things started getting sour not long after they started dating. Patrick has… a wandering eye. Sarah found out he was double-dipping, gave him the boot, and went on with her life." The firefighter shrugged. "Apparently he didn't."

"And this means what for this situation?" Boscorelli asked, some of his scepticism fading into curiosity.

The firefighter hesitated for a long moment. Trusting Boscorelli was his only remaining option, but he was not certain of the other man's discretion. He was taking a chance with this. Sarah did not know anything about his activities, and he would prefer to keep it that way. She wouldn't approve and very likely her already dangerously short temper would find spark in his actions. Ian sighed. This _was_ his only remaining option.

"Patrick Harris is ridiculously predictable. Very straightforward when he gets an idea into his head. Not a lot of imagination, but enough. I've tailed him on more than once occasion recently and I'm sure you have too. He nearly always follows the same pattern. Parks down the street, within easy view of Sarah's building. Always at night when there are few people around. Sometimes he gets out to walk around a bit but he always goes back to the same spot."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

"He's probably figured out by now that I've shadowed him, or at least that he needs to keep an eye out for me. He won't be watching for you."

Boscorelli shrugged fractionally, a gesture that Ian took as a signal to continue.

"I can't tail him anymore, but I can make sure that Sarah goes nowhere alone, when she's off-duty. If you were up for it, you could tail Patrick a little and put together a timeline of his movements. Anything that we can use in court."

"I might do that."

"It's up to you. Obviously I can't _tell_ you to do anything. That would look bad."

"Uh-huh. What's in the bag?"

Trying to suppress a grin, Ian pulled the small bag off his shoulder. "Nikon F100 with 105mm zoom lens. Works great for this sort of thing."

"You knew I'd agree before you got here."

"I suspected you would. We're on the same side here, Boscorelli."

"I'm not doin' this for you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I'm not doing this for me either." Ian replied. He had expected no less from Boscorelli.

The cop took the camera bag with a quiet snort. "So when does Harris usually show up?"

* * *

The refreshing hot spray of the shower cascaded against her back, the water massaging the knot between her shoulder blades. It felt good to just stand under the spray and not move. Disconnecting from the world always helped settle her thoughts. She'd unplugged the phone almost immediately after getting home the night before and made sure to secure both locks on the door. It didn't matter who wanted to reach her. She wasn't available. Not for anyone. Not even Ian.

Ian. The stupid bastard had really helped screw things up. After being at the meeting in Captain Driscoll's office, after finding out everything that had been going on, after being told that her court date was next week, he _still_ took it open himself to make a bigger mess for her. Sarah closed her eyes, a sigh passing quietly between her lips. She couldn't blame him. Not for long, anyway. He meant well. Nobody else she knew would have done nearly as much as he had and would do for her.

Her partner's face flashed across her mind. He had gone out of his way to help as well, but she wasn't sure of his motives for it. At times it seemed like he was acting out of a sense of duty rather than simple friendship. _As if he was trying to atone for something._ Once again she wondered why he'd left New York. Maybe her brother's partner could provide some answers. Bosco did not seem disposed to offering them at all.

So many things she could be doing and yet she stood under the stinging spray without moving. The knot between her shoulder blades loosened a little more as the water beat against her back. Only thing better would be a massage, but unless she asked him to, Ian would not come by. Maybe she should call him. No. She wouldn't.

Standing there was accomplishing little more than making her drowsy. Any longer under that wonderfully hot water and she'd fall asleep on her feet. She wrung water from her hair as she stepped onto the cool tile floor. Steam rose in thick clouds toward the ceiling. The warmth in the small bathroom only helped make her eyelids feel heavier. She dried herself off quickly and headed for her bedroom. The only person she could really trust after today was Bosco.

This would be easy. Go a single night without talking to anyone. Nothing to it. Then why was she plugging the phone back in? That was encouraging trouble. She could do it. It was not impossible. The dial tone hummed from the receiver. Easy. Nothing to it.

There was no answer. She let the phone ring for a good five minutes before hanging up. Where the hell could he be? He was still too new to Boston to know where the good bars were and she had a feeling that he wouldn't go out anyway. Dammit.

Now what?

* * *

It was sometime around midnight when he noticed the car ease into a parking spot three buildings down. He sat up fractionally, reaching for the camera bag resting on the seat beside him. The vehicle was a spot-on match to the one O'Shaughnessy had described. Apparently the roughing up he'd received at the hands of O'Shaughnessy, Matt Deschaine, and Davis hadn't deterred him one bit. _More fool he,_ Bosco thought, lifting the camera. It was a clear night for once and the thin sliver of moon provided ample light. Perfect conditions for stalker-spotting.

_Click._ Bosco allowed a small smile to lift the corner of his mouth. This was going to be a long night, but an easy one. The bastard had even parked under a streetlight. How much easier was he going to make this? _Click._ It was laughably simple to get a good shot of the detective's car, licence plate and all, even from this distance. O'Shaughnessy would be pleased with this.

He set the camera down and slid lower in his seat. It wouldn't do any good to use all the film so early in the night. As long as Harris didn't try anything stupid, it was going to be a quiet stakeout. It'd be better that way, Bosco decided. The last thing he wanted was a face-to-face confrontation. Not after the incident that day. A quiet grunt rippled through the silence of his car. He was somewhat surprised that Harris would dare venture out so soon after that beating. The guy either had the biggest pair of balls this side of the Hudson or he simply didn't know when to quit. Bosco was willing to bet it was the latter.

Minutes ticked slowly by as he kept his silent watch. No matter how many times he heard otherwise, stakeouts were always boring, mind-numbing affairs. He wished there was somebody in the car with him to help while away the hours. _Somebody like Faith._ No. No thoughts of her. She was a part of the past he had left behind. Nothing could entice him to return there, not after…

Wait, what the hell was Harris doing? Bosco sat up sharply, watching the detective stride easily toward Deschaine's apartment building. _He wouldn't dare._ Apparently he _did_ dare, because he was opening the front door and entering the lobby. Before the building's door had even started to close, Bosco was out of his car and sprinting across the street, all pretences of quietly tailing the detective forgotten. Any number of things could happen if that bastard reached Deschaine's apartment. Bosco was determined to stop him before he got that far. But how to do it so Deschaine wouldn't know either man was even in the building?

Harris had reached the top of the stairs by the time that Bosco made into the building's lobby. It was go-time now. The New Yorker took the steps two at a time, closing the gap swiftly. Startled to hear the footfalls behind him, Harris turned. Bosco caught him in a tackle that carried both men out of sight of Deschaine's door. The instant Harris' back hit the floor, Bosco had a feeling that this wasn't the brightest thing he'd ever done.

* * *

The familiar buzz of conversation and quiet laughter rolled over Davis as he crossed the threshold into the coffee shop. Andy O'Shea and his son were sitting at the counter, next to Sully and Monroe. Deschaine headed directly for the O'Shea pair while Davis hung back for a moment to study the familiar faces lining the counter. It was almost like old times. Almost.

"Hey, Davis! C'mon and sit with us, lad." O'Shea called. "Don't be standin' there like a wee frightened child."

Davis grinned at the Irishman's friendly jibe and squeezed in at the end of the counter. "How's it goin' O'Shea?"

"Wee bit of this, wee bit of that. Y'know, the usual."

"Yeah."

"I was telling the old man there about the little group of toughs wandering around near 97th and Lex. Swaggerin' lot, they are. Saw 'em start thumpin' on a fellow for his wallet yesterday. Wasn't more than four of the bastards. Couldn't get to the poor bloke in time to stop the pounding, but we chased the buggers down fast enough. Harder'n cement they think they are."

Sully rumbled a laugh. "You better watch how you handle them, O'Shea. You're not as quick as you used to be. They might get tough on you."

"Bah, I'd take a couple with me if it comes to it."

"Too much confidence gets guys hurt."

"Aye, perhaps so. But Jamie here knows the drill if somethin' does go down wrong."

"What?"

"Ain't much sense in both of us gettin' laid up bad or killed, when there ain't anyone else able to look after the girls, now is there? Better me than him, anyway." O'Shea shrugged and sipped some coffee.

"I keep telling him that I'm not gonna run from a fight but he doesn't listen."

Davis managed a half-smile. "It's probably a better idea to just smile and nod as if you're gonna do what you're told. Makes things easier."

"Hey now, don't be givin' the boy any ideas there!"

"He already takes after his old man." Sully added, reaching over to get another packet of sugar. "That's about as bad as it gets."

"So what would you do if something went down wrong?" Matt asked.

O'Shea lost his easy grin. "I ain't got this baton here for nothin', lad. There won't be nothin' but broken heads and blood."

"I don't think you're supposed to swing for the head."

"So bloody what? It's the only way to drop a blackguard good."

"It's against policy, though."

"Sod the policy. When it's me or him, I'll stack the odds all I can. You should learn that quick. Ain't no quarter given out there when it gets rough."

Matt looked away, uncertainty shadowing his face. The lessons kept coming for him, Davis thought. Yesterday he'd learned the consequences of acting rashly and today he learned part of the reality of working the street. Not everything was shining and glamorous. But with O'Shea, it was all about hard-lines and doing The Job the old-fashioned way. Sometimes the older cop's methods got him into deep trouble on the street. Matt did need to learn, but Davis wasn't sure that O'Shea was the best source to learn from. A thought struck him.

"Hey, Sully. When was the last time you were in Boston?"

"Not in a few years. Why?"

"It's a pretty neat city. Me and Deschaine were there yesterday for a visit."

"Oh yeah? How was it?"

"Interesting." Davis took a drink of coffee to moisten his tongue. "We ran into Bosco."

That got everyone's attention. Sully's brow furrowed thoughtfully and O'Shea's expression became one of wariness. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Davis cleared his throat with another sip of coffee and began the tale.


	17. Changes

Sorry that this is not astory update.

I'm going away to Missouri for nine weeks soon for basic training in the Army and then I'm going to be in Texas for a lot longer for advanced training. Which means no new chapters for several months, unfortunately. I've been bustin' butt to get back into shape so I haven't had much energy for any of my stories. I'll do my best to have an update after I get back.

Cheers, and take care!

Lady Patriot


	18. Mistakes

Hey everybody! Sorry about the long delay, but life has been maddeningly busy. I'm down in Texas until July, I think. But... I managed to put together a chapter for you all. It's kinda short. Hope you like it anyway!

* * *

Nobody was home. Neither Bosco nor Ian was answering their phones. They were up to something. They had to be. She sank into one of well-cushioned armchairs in the living room, the cordless phone hanging loose from her fingers. It figured that neither one would be available when she wanted somebody to talk to. One step ahead and two steps back. It always went like that.

Scooter bumped his furry head against her leg, purring softly. He wanted attention as he usually did at this hour. Sarah sighed as the cat hopped lightly onto the chair and into her lap. "I don't suppose you know where they've vanished to, Scoot?"

He only nuzzled her hand in response, curling up with a contented purr. Another sigh rippled up. How simple his life was. Simplicity was something long lost to her. Some days she missed it more than others. The Boston officer idly scratched the cat's ears, somehow not quite as tired as she had been. No doubt the result of thinking so harshly.

Something out in the hallway crashed and she was on her feet instantly, dislodging the annoyed feline from her lap. What the hell was going on out there at this hour? She unlocked the door and opened it cautiously. A second later, she had flung the door open and barrelled out into the hallway, bare feet scuffing over the carpet. What in the hell was her partner doing? Sarah grabbed two generous fistfuls of Bosco's jacket and dragged him away from whoever was pounding on him.

"Bosco! What the hell is going on?" The Boston officer demanded, then she saw the other man's face.

Holy hell. It wasn't… it couldn't be. She released her grip on Bosco and stepped back a couple paces. What was _he_ doing here?

"Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on out here, or I'm calling the station and having a unit come over here."

Bosco swiped blood from his nose. "Ask that jag-off. He was sittin' outside for the past hour and a half, staring at your window."

Hot anger rushed through her like liquid fire. How dare he, knowing that he was not supposed to be anywhere near her? When would this stop? God_damn_ his arrogant ass! Enough was enough. "Bosco, call Dispatch. Have them send somebody over here. Yesterday." Sarah glared daggers at Harris, who had since gotten to his feet and adopted an innocent expression. Something about that expression triggered all her suppressed emotions. The smug ass. How dare he…

"Deschaine!" Bosco grabbed her and pulled her back, keeping her from taking another swing at the detective. "It won't help!"

"Nothing helps, so who cares?" Sarah struggled against his grip, all her pent-up frustration and anger lending her energy. She wanted to pound Harris into the ground, to break whatever bones she could. Anything to inflict pain on him.

"Calm down! Don't give him any advantage, you know he'll use it."

Her partner was slowly pushing her back to the open door of her apartment. Sarah gradually quieted down as the brief surge of energy drained away, leaving her feeling weary and defeated. What good was any of this doing? Patrick still persisted in his sick game. There didn't seem to be any way to dissuade him. Distantly, she heard Bosco's voice as he called Dispatch for a unit. More than likely Patrick had made good his escape. The slimy ass.

"You gonna be all right?"

The question struck her as a ridiculous one. Of course she wasn't all right. How could she be? She wasn't safe in her own apartment. How could she expect to be all right, knowing that? "I need to get out of here. Away from here. I don't know where. Just… away from here."

Bosco only nodded as she rose hesitantly from the couch and crossed the floor to her bedroom. She grabbed some clothes, not bothering to see what they were, and stuffed them into her duffel bag. There was already a uniform in there. A few assorted items found their way into the bag before she zipped it up and slung it over her shoulder. She did know where she wanted to go, after a moment's thought. The only place she knew, other than her own apartment.

"All set?"

"Yeah. We have to wait for – "

There was a knock at the door. Sarah and Bosco exchanged glances before she moved to answer the knock. More unpleasant business to handle. Outstanding.

* * *

Matt Deschaine yawned as he settled into the passenger seat, a steaming cup of coffee in his gloved hands. His partner regarded him curiously, wondering at the Bostonian's casual silence. He had been relatively quiet since the trip to Boston and Davis was beginning to think that Matt was planning another trip. The thought was not a pleasant one. The first trip had been bad enough. Matt would be on his own if he decided to do that again.

"Hey. What's the deal with Jamie's dad? He's got a hair across his ass half the time." Matt asked suddenly, interrupting Davis' thoughts.

"What about it? That's just how he is about The Job."

"He's a jerk."

Davis rolled his eyes. "So you say. You don't know the guy. He's been through a lot. If he has an attitude, he's more than entitled to it."

"Whatever. The guy's a jerk."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I think you're a jerk too, then."

Matt's eyes went wide and he faced his partner in surprise. "Whoa what?"

"You heard me. I think you're a jerk too." Davis repeated. "You have an attitude and you're reckless. That crap gets cops hurt."

"Come on, man. That's not fair."

"And it's fair for you to say that O'Shea's a jerk? You don't even know the guy."

"I mean, based on how he acts."

"It's pretty hard to base a reliable opinion about someone completely on how they act," the older cop said. "It does everyone an injustice - including yourself. Get to know Andy a bit more before you draw any conclusions about who he is."

"Yeah, okay. When he mellows out some, I'll think about it."

"The Andy O'Shea you see at the house before shift is as mellow as he gets. He has calmed down quite a bit recently, but he certainly won't make exceptions for new guys who are inclined to have an unfavourable opinion of him anyway."

"That's crap. It's not that hard to be civil for a few hours."

Davis sighed. "Think what you will. I guess it's too much to expect understanding. You haven't been here long enough."

"And what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Matt demanded.

"It means," his partner replied slowly, "work out of this house for longer than a month before passing judgement on officers who have been assigned here for over twenty-five years."

Matt's only response to that was a wordless shrug. Davis sighed again and concentrated on the road. It clearly wouldn't do any good to waste any more breath on the subject. Or any subject, for that matter. Better to let things roll as they would, and hope for the best.

* * *

"Five-Five Adam Foot, take a fight in progress, 96 East 97th Street."

The call crackled over the airwaves casually even though the situation was anything but. Andy O'Shea's voice came on the radio, as cool as ever. He acknowledged the call and put out a request for additional units on the spot. Just as composed as anyone could possibly be, but Sully knew better. 

"Five-Five Charlie responding, 96 East 97th."

Monroe glanced at him curiously, as he pulled into a tight U-turn in the middle of the busy street. "What's the rush?"

"That's one of the rough spots on O'Shea's beat. There are always gang-bangers throwing each other around down there." Sully answered tersely. "I'll bet it's gonna be more than the O'Sheas can handle. It probably will be. Andy O'Shea doesn't call for back-up unless he knows he needs it."

"Ah. This will be a bad one then." Monroe nodded understanding.

"Yeah."

The cruiser whipped through an intersection, moving in and out of traffic under Sully's skilful guidance. Neither officer spoke as they neared 97th Street. Their minds were occupied with what might lie in wait for them once they got to the scene. Sully couldn't help feel the cold trickles of dread spreading ice through his gut. Something told him this was going to go badly for the two officers on the foot-post.

"Five-Five Charlie, be advised. Shots fired at police. 96 East 97th Street. Ten-three?"

"Ten-four, Central." Monroe answered.

"Crap," Sully said.

* * *

His wild-eyed stare swept the sea of faces around him, fear rising like a tidal wave. The other gang-bangers were in the crowd somewhere, likely moving toward the rookie cop. His heart hammered against his ribs. In his hand, his gun seemed heavy and cumbersome. What good was this piece of steel if he couldn't summon the strength to use it? What good was he, period?

"Get the hell out of here, boy!" His father barked, one hand clamped against his side. Crimson stained his fingers, dripping down to pool on the sidewalk. "Get out!"

Jamie couldn't move for staring at his training officer, his father. He was hit badly. The older man had made him promise to turn tail if something went wrong and he had done so, never imagining that such a time would actually come and he'd be faced with the terrible choice that now weighed upon him. Did he hold to his promise and run or did he stay and defend his father?

"Go, damn you!" The elder O'Shea lurched over and shoved his son toward the street, leaving a scarlet hand-print on his jacket. "Run, for God's sake, they're comin' again!"

It was true. The distinctive yellow of the gang's colours was filtering through the crowd. Jamie felt helpless, frustrated tears forming. There was no time to waste. His father gave him another shove, weaker this time. The rookie cop couldn't bring himself to run or even move. Every instinct screamed at him to stay put and protect his father.

"I ain't gonna tell ya again! Run!"

"No!" He had somehow found his voice. "I won't go anywhere."

"Think of the girls, you bloody fool!"

The blow was unexpected and carried all the strength that the older man could muster. Jamie felt the bruise almost instantly. Stunned, both by the blow itself and the fact that his father had never struck him before then, he felt a tear spill over his cheek, followed closely by another. The elder O'Shea had drawn his gun, turning his back dismissively on his son to face the approaching threats. This was it. The time to decide was now.

Jamie's mind flashed back to the apartment, where his sisters waited for them to come home. Who would look after the girls if they both went down here? Who would tell them that they were orphans, to be thrown into the care of some stranger? He remembered how hard it had been when their mother died. How much worse would it be this time, to lose both brother and father?

His legs moved of their own accord, bearing him away. His heart and mind rebelled against the action. His place was with his father and partner, but he couldn't stop, couldn't make himself turn around and retrace his steps. _He had promised!_ The tears came unchecked now, bitter and hot with shame.

"Ten-thirteen, ten, ten-thirteen! 98th and Lex! Officer down!" The words caught in his throat, fighting past the growing lump. "Get some bloody help here now!"

Sirens wailed like banshees in the distance, coming from all directions. Jamie heard the pops of gunfire behind him and a scream ripped past the lump in his throat, a purely emotional cry that drew startled stares his way. He was oblivious to all as he collapsed against a lamppost. It didn't matter who saw him like this. His cheeks were afire, warmed by his tears. He clung to the post like it was the only thing that could keep him even slightly upright. In reality it was. His knees would not support his weight. His whole body had gone numb.

What a price this was to pay for holding to a promise. What a fool he was now.


	19. Lost

Another update for y'all. Hope it's at least halfway decent.

* * *

Davis swore feelingly, cranking the steering wheel hard around. They had been travelling away from 97th Street when the Ten-Thirteen call was put out over the radio. The voice had been scarcely recognisable as that of Jamie O'Shea. Dammit. The two foot post officers must have run into more trouble than they could handle this time. He prayed that the elder O'Shea hadn't taken it upon himself to deal with the situation alone, as he often had in the past. He prayed and hoped, knowing all the while that Andy had made his son promise to run if a call went bad, knowing that since Jamie had screamed for help, the responding units were more than likely going to find an officer down and out, though hopefully not dead.

"Five-Five David, 96 East 97th Street."

"Ten-four, David."

Thankfully, Matt Deschaine did not speak as the RMP's shrieking siren cleared the way for them. Intersections flashed past them, street signs merely a blur. 110th Street, 109th Street, 108th Street, too far. They wouldn't make it in time. Davis' foot weighed heavily on the gas pedal and the cruiser surged past East 106th Street. What would they find when they reached the scene? He tried not to think about it. Andy would come out of this one like he had every other time before. A little bit banged up, a little bit bloody, but still looking forward to the next call. He'd be fine. Davis felt a shiver. Somehow, that felt like false optimism this time. _Hope for the best, prepare for the worst._ Out of nowhere, that often-repeated mantra wafted across his mind. _Hope for the best._

102nd Street, a bewildered elderly woman standing on the curb, watching a kid sprinting away with her purse. 99th Street, a woman screaming and throwing whatever she could lay hand on, aiming for her drunk boyfriend sprawled on the sidewalk. 97th Street... a cluster of cruisers parked willy-nilly in the street, red and white lights blazing. Officers standing around, looking helpless. Davis killed the siren as he brought the RMP to a bone-rattling stop. He was out of the vehicle before his partner was able to unbuckle.

"Sully!"

The heavy-set older cop turned slowly toward his former partner, a saddened expression on his care-worn face. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Davis saw the paramedics through the circle of silent, watching officers. They were working at a frantic pace, their conversation clipped and professional. Andy O'Shea was down. There was blood everywhere, staining the concrete. It looked dark and shimmering, almost surreal. The officer lay on his back, his uniform cut away to allow the paramedics to work. Four of them were kneeling around him, their gloved hands moving with speed and skill. Davis' gaze lifted from the medics to another body lying a few feet away. This one was covered with a sheet and had clearly been forgotten. Good.

"Get that stretcher over here!" It was Carlos, barking at one of the officers standing closest to an ambulance. The stretcher arrived at the medic's side instantly. Willing hands appeared to help roll O'Shea onto his side so the backboard could be slid underneath him. Those same willing hands helped lift the officer onto the stretcher.

"Move!"

Cops and paramedics hustled the stretched to the nearest ambulance and loaded it swiftly in. Davis watched until the doors had slammed shut and somebody pounded three times on them, the signal for the driver to go. The ambulance was gone immediately, following the RMP that was its escort, sirens wailing. Without really wanting to, Davis looked down at the pool of blood on the sidewalk. Andy's blood. There was so much crimson on the concrete. It couldn't be all his. There was too much of it. Suddenly he was angry, unreasonably angry. Not even ten minutes before the Ten-Thirteen had come in, he had listened to his partner rip on the cop who had gone down right here.

"_Now_ do you think Andy O'Shea is a jerk?" Davis demanded, spinning on his heel to glare at his partner. It was a crazy question and completely pointless, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. Matt remained silent, his face ghost-white. Over by the other ambulance, Sully and Monroe supported a sobbing Jamie O'Shea. The poor guy. How hard had it been for him to obey his father like that, when he knew the odds and the danger? The young Bostonian was staring at his friend. Davis stepped past him, moving toward Jamie. He had nothing more to say to his partner.

Jamie lifted his tear-streaked face from his hands when Davis approached. The purely shattered look in his eyes made Davis' heart ache. He had watched his own father get shot and had been forced to run away by the wounded man. Only the paramedics knew for sure how badly O'Shea was hurt, and they had spared the other cops by simply saying he had lost quite a bit of blood. Davis thought of the pool of blood behind him and shook his head. It was not much of a stretch to realise that O'Shea had been hanging by a thread when the paramedics finally got to the scene. _Hope for the best, prepare for the worst._

"He made me run." Jamie's voice was thick and barely audible. He was staring blankly at the pool of blood on the ground, more than likely reliving the whole thing in his mind. The other cops looked at him sadly, allowing him to speak as he wished. "Sarah... Heather... where are they? Where are the girls?"

"Take it easy, Jamie," Sully said gently, his big hands restraining the younger man as he tried to rise from the ambulance's bumper. "They're okay."

A haunted expression came onto Jamie's face. "They're okay... they were his main concern. He made me run for them." A bitter, anguished note took over in his voice. "It should have been me. He's my father. It should have been me."

Sully looked away, remembering similar words from O'Shea after Luke Malloy had been killed. _'It should have been me.'_ The same pain, the same guilt was raging through Jamie, as it had his father. "Come on, Jamie. We'll take you home."

"No. I need to be with him. It's my fault he was alone."

"Okay." Sully glanced at Davis, knowing he had remembered as well. "The hospital then."

* * *

"O'Shaughnessy." He always answered the phone that way. Ever the professional.

"Ian?"

There was the briefest of pauses. She knew he was sitting up in bed, probably blinking away sleep. It _was_ somewhat late. "I'll be right there."

He knew. He understood. Of course. She'd known he would say that even before she dialled his number. With a sigh, she pushed the 'off' button with her thumb. Bosco was standing near the door, waiting. The two officers who had come to her apartment had long since gone. There had been little they could do except document the incident anyway. Patrick, of course, had disappeared long before they arrived. Her duffel bag lay on the floor, packed and ready.

"He's on his way."

Bosco only nodded and moved across the room to study the street below from the window. He had spoken little since the cops had left. What could he say? She accepted his silence as a necessary evil and wandered into the kitchen, not quite sure what she was going to do when Ian arrived. He'd take her to his apartment, where she'd be a good deal safer. There were a number of other firefighters who lived in the same building - something that was not coincidental. She didn't know what to do anymore. Everything she tried to do somehow failed. Was it just bad luck? She hoped so. Her stomach suddenly grumbled and she remembered that the last time she'd eaten had been around eleven thirty that morning. She grabbed what was left of the Chinese she had ordered the night before and dumped it onto a plate. It didn't taste all that good cold, but she didn't feel like reheating it. Reheated Chinese wasn't terribly appetising either.

"He's here," Bosco announced from the living room. Sarah swallowed the last of the chicken lo mein and left the plate in the sink. Her partner had her duffel bag slung over his shoulder, ready to go. Ian stood near the door with his arms folded. He looked like he was ready to throw something - or someone - through a window.

"This has gotta stop, Sarah."

Understatement of the day, she thought. "I know, Ian. What am I supposed to do to make it stop? He won't take a hint. I don't think even a court order will keep him away."

"We'll see about that."

"No, Ian. Don't pay him another visit. It didn't help the first time."

Ian shrugged. "Let's just get out of here. He'll probably be back before long, the slimy bastard."

She shuddered at the thought. Okay. Get out of here. "Scooter!" She called and the cat appeared from the kitchen, licking his whiskers. Sarah picked him up, scratching his ears fondly. "Ian, would you grab his box from the bathroom?"

The firefighter nodded and went to retrieve the item. Sarah didn't wait. She wanted to get away from her apartment, it wasn't the haven that it had been. That it should have been. Bosco followed close behind her, not speaking. There was precious little to say. She hurried down the stairs and paused in the lobby to let Ian catch up. He and Bosco were the first out the door and they looked up and down the street to make sure that Patrick's car was nowhere around. Sarah followed them after Bosco waved her outside. Ian's Explorer was parked in the fire lane. She nearly laughed at that. The two men loaded her bag and Scooter's litter box into the vehicle and Ian paused to offer his hand to Bosco.

"Much appreciated, Boscorelli."

"No problem." Bosco smiled faintly. "See you later, Deschaine."

"Yeah." Sarah watched him cross the street to get into his car. How much had these two planned together? It couldn't be just coincindence that Bosco was outside her apartment to see Patrick come inside. "Why did you ask Bosco to be here?"

Ian started the Explorer and glanced at her thoughtfully. She had settled into the passenger seat with Scooter curled up in her lap. With a sigh that gave away his reluctance to answer, he said, "Somebody needed to keep an eye out for Harris. He said he'd do it."

"You had him watching my building?"

"Yes. Apparently that wasn't such a bad idea."

"Ian."

"I don't want to fight over this. He just did what I asked him to."

Sarah rubbed her forehead. "I'm not angry, I'm just... you could have said something to me first."

"Maybe. I figured it would go over better in court if you didn't know. Plausible deniability."

"Next time tell me. I'll take my chances."

"I'd prefer that you didn't," Ian said and Sarah chose not to reply. She thought about what was going to happen now, when she had to appear in court for the order of protection approval hearing. How was she going to explain Patrick's battered appearance? It was not looking good for her chances of getting the R.O. What was she supposed to do to keep that bastard away from her?

"Any ideas?"

He looked at her curiously, not understanding right away what she was asking. "I'm out of 'em."

She closed her eyes. "Damn."

* * *

Bosco didn't go home after leaving his partner's apartment. He was angry and more determined than ever to hammer that jackass detective. He knew where the man lived, after responding to the residence when the jag-off was getting the crap kicked out of him by O'Shaughnessy and Deschaine's brother. And he still had O'Shaughnessy's camera.

96 Hanson Street. The bastard's car was here. Good. Bosco parked down the street from the building and killed the engine. His fingers closed around the camera that rested in the passenger seat. The Nikon clicked once, twice, three times. Good shot, he'd gotten the licence plate again. Bosco grinned to himself. He'd sit here all night. If the detective went anywhere, so would he.

"Look at you, you smug bastard. The hunter is the hunted now." Bosco muttered, settling back into the seat. It would be a long night but he was prepared to pass it right here.

* * *

"Jamie?"

The young O'Shea looked up from where he sat in the corner of the waiting room. His face was drawn with guilt and worry and stained by tears. Sully bit his lip and tried not to sigh. "Doc wants to talk to you for a minute."

Without a word, Jamie dragged himself to his feet and walked slowly toward the nurses' station. He clearly dreaded what the doctor might say. Sully shook his head and returned to the row of chairs where Davis, Deschaine, and Monroe were sitting. The crushing presence of the other officers had dwindled somewhat, but it was a sign of how respected Andy O'Shea was that most of them had remained so long. O'Shea had been upstairs in surgery for the better part of four hours now. Hopefully the doctor had good news for them. Hopefully.

"Good news?" Davis asked.

"Don't know. That'll be up to Jamie to tell us. Hopefully."

Monroe shook her head. "It's not fair. O'Shea is one of the best cops on the street. Why did this happen to him?"

"They had him singled out for awhile. He's very gung-ho about keeping his beat clean. But this isn't the seventies anymore. It's not the same out there." Sully sighed. "I wish he would have learned that sooner."

Davis rolled an empty coffee cup back and forth between his hands, staring down at the tile floor. He had spoken very little all night. Neither had Deschaine. Sully wondered about that. His former partner knew O'Shea and how the other cop operated. Maybe he too was wishing that O'Shea had exercised more caution when he knew that there were gang-bangers looking for him.

Abruptly, Davis stood up. Sully looked up from his thoughts to see Jamie O'Shea staggering toward them. Fresh tears were rolling down his face. _Oh God,_ Sully thought, moving forward to help Davis support the younger man before he could collapse. "What did he say, Jamie?" The older veteran asked gently.

Jamie drew in a deep, sobbing breath and prepared himself to reply.


	20. Hidden Blessings

Apologies for disappearing for so long. Work has gotten in the way.

* * *

A crisp early morning breeze stung his cheeks and ears, reddening and numbing his skin. It was a typically chilly Boston morning. The cold kept most people indoors, for which he was grateful. It made navigating the streets easier. What few brave souls were out already went about the business of preparing for the day. Storekeepers were setting out sidewalk billboards that advertised the day's specials. Once or twice he shortened his stride to look at this sign or that, curious as to what Bostonians considered purchase-worthy.

His lungs burned from the cold air but he welcomed the slight pain. He had not been out for a run since he'd come to this city and this was as good a morning for a run as any. Boston was a real nice city, he admitted to himself as he lengthened his stride down a hill. A lot different from New York. People were a little nicer, the streets a little quieter, the city itself a little cleaner. He could get used to living here, he decided.

His sneakers crunched over gravel in the street and he concentrated on remembering the way to the harbour. The traffic was beginning to pick up when he rounded the corner that brought him to the waterfront. Here, there was bustling activity and noise, even as early as it was. He headed toward a small park, hoping to catch the sunrise before making the return run to his apartment. A bench faced the harbour, empty until he approached and claimed a seat on it. The sky was dark over head, but toward the distant horizon, the pale shades of pink and orange rose, slowly overwhelming the velvet darkness and beginning the unending pursuit of the moon. Bosco hadn't seen a sunrise since he couldn't remember when. This one was perhaps the most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld. Why hadn't he stopped to notice these before? Maybe because he spent all his time buried in the crowded canyons of Manhattan.

The sun pulled itself over the horizon line and burst into the sky with red-gold radiance. The waters of Boston Harbour gleamed in the rising sunlight, reflecting the colours like a liquid mirror. Bosco closed his eyes for a moment and thought about his purpose here. What was he to do, while Deschaine was in court that day? Go there with her and make sure nothing untoward happened before or after? O'Shaughnessy would be there too. He might end up simply being a buffer between her and the press - Captain Driscoll had warned them that the media had somehow gotten word of the hearing and the circumstances surrounding it. Bosco had felt his temper stirring at the news. No doubt that slimy son-of-a-bitch had tipped off the press and now his partner's personal affairs would be spread all over the city. More than ever, he wanted to pound this detective into the ground.

"Nice view from here."

"Yeah. First time I've been down here." The sudden presence of a voice behind him wasn't a complete surprise. There were bicyclists, dog-walkers, and other runners out, taking advantage of the light traffic. He hadn't, however, quite expected the voice to be familiar.

"Worth being up so early?"

"Yeah." Bosco opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at his partner. "What brings you down here? Shouldn't you be getting ready for court?"

Deschaine leaned on the back of the bench, gazing out over the water. "I haven't been out for run in weeks. I used to come down here every day to watch the sun come up. It almost always helps me feel better." Her expression changed from relaxed contentment to something bordering on sorrow. "I haven't dared to come out for fear of Patrick somehow 'bumping' into me. It'd be just like him. It's sad, isn't it, when one person can have such control over your life?"

Bosco didn't trust himself to reply to that. He knew what she meant. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, nodding slowly. "What do you want me to do today?"

"I don't know. Your being in the courtroom wouldn't be the greatest thing, considering what happened the other night. But... the same can be said for Ian." Deschaine sighed. "You can come if you want. I'd appreciate it. It's probably not going to turn out well anyway. Hell I'm even sure why I'm trying anymore."

"Hey, come on. You're trying to stop this jag-off from ruining your life. Things will turn out okay."

His partner snorted a laugh, pushing away from the bench. "I wish I had your confidence. Patrick's a slippery bastard. I don't doubt that he'll manage to somehow slide out of this hearing unscathed and smug. Like he has so far."

"We'll stop him." Bosco said stubbornly.

Deschaine only smiled sadly. Without replying, she turned away and took up a jog, heading back toward the streets. Bosco watched her go, shaking his head. Her confidence was failing and that was bad. They needed to get that restraining order today. He got up and started the journey to his own apartment. Those pictures should be ready by now. He'd pick them up and make sure that Deschaine's lawyer saw them before the hearing. They had to beat Harris.

* * *

Word of the shooting at 98th and Lexington had spread through the city like wildfire. Every news station was carrying the story. Reporters and cameramen had showed up at the hospital within minutes of the ambulance, shoving their microphones and cameras into the faces of the cops and staff, babbling questions and making nuisances of themselves. Lieutenant Swersky had quickly ordered them removed from the building and a cordon set up outside to keep them out. Officers obeyed only too willingly. Still, the eagerly waiting reporters managed to capture a few precious minutes of video, showing a tearful Jamie O'Shea being escorted out of the hospital by several cops who roughly shoved past the crowd of yammering reporters without speaking.

Faith saw these images on Channel 2, amid the speculations of the anchorman whose ugly tie complemented his flabby face. She couldn't believe such a thing had happened to Andy O'Shea. The older cop was tough as nails and more than capable of handling gang-bangers. For him to have been shot, not just once, but twice, was unbelievable. What was happening to the officers she used to patrol the streets with? O'Shea was in the hospital, Bosco was hiding in Boston, Sully and Davis hadn't called or visited in days. Things were falling apart.

She absently rubbed her leg, wishing she had the power of movement again. To be able to walk would be so wonderful. To be able to work again... they'd need officers now. There was only one way to get herself back on her feet and that was to work for it. Getting Bosco back was one of her motivations and now, with O'Shea down and out for who knows how long, there was an opening in the roster. It was horrible to think of the poor guy like that, but it was true. She'd go down to the hospital to visit him, she decided suddenly. Officers were most likely gathering there in shifts, spending time in the waiting area or outside his room, keeping reporters away. Would they let her in, even for a few moments? It was possible.

Fred wasn't happy with the idea when she told him, but he grudgingly agreed and helped her downstairs to the truck. Faith noted the unhappy silence that dominated the ride to the hospital. It was the same silence that seemed to be taking over her apartment. Neither of them really knew what to say to each other these days. Part of it was her fault, she knew. She simply didn't know what to say to Fred, didn't know how to articulate her thoughts and feelings in a way he would understand. It was frustrating and yet, she wondered if he ever would understand.

Jamie O'Shea was outside when Fred parked the truck near the entrance. A cigarette dangled from his fingers and he was crouched against the wall, well away from the doors. Faith waited until Fred had helped her into the wheelchair before calling out to the young man. He looked up from his study of the ground, wariness in his expression. No doubt he expected it to be a reporter. She wheeled herself across the pavement toward him.

"Faith Yokas," she said when she was within arm's reach, offering her hand.

Jamie didn't smile as he returned the greeting. He blew out a ring of smoke and tossed the cigarette down. "Yeah, and? You a reporter?"

"No. I used to work with your father. Shame what happened."

"Yeah."

She resisted the urge to sigh. "How's he doing?"

The younger O'Shea didn't respond. Instead, he straightened up from his crouch and shoved his hands in his pockets. He regarded Faith for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he ought to answer. Finally, he heaved a sigh and said, "Come inside, it's chilly out here."

That was certainly true, but Faith wondered if he was simply trying to stall for time, to come up with an answer that revealed as little as possible. She couldn't blame him for that. It was hard to know who to trust sometimes. She followed him inside, noting the presence of several cops she knew in the waiting area. They nodded or waved in greeting as she passed. Their acknowledgement of her seemed to put Jamie at ease, for he paused to glance back at her halfway to the elevators.

"How long have you worked with my father?"

"A couple years. He worked the day tour and I was on the night tour. We worked together on a couple cases."

Jamie let her get on the elevator first and pushed the button for the third floor. "I think I remember him talking about you once or twice. After Luke died."

A shiver ran through her. She remembered that case all too well. "Yeah." It was all she could think of to say. Jamie seemed disinclined to pursue that topic so she remained silent, following him off the elevator. He led the way down a hallway and around a corner. Two uniformed cops stood on either side of a doorway. Obviously this was Andy's room.

"Doctor says he's done all he can," Jamie said suddenly, stopping at the door. "But I can't say I've seen him do much of anything."

The bitterness in his voice was like a living force. Faith knew what he meant. Not sure if she should enter the room, she looked up at the younger cop. He was staring at something down the hall so she figured she was on her own. The wheelchair made no sound as she rolled across the tile floor toward the bed. O'Shea was lying amidst a small forest of tubes. His face was pale and gaunt, and he seemed small and frail in the hospital bed, a far cry from the lively, active cop she remembered. How bad was he hurt? She shook her head sadly. It was hard seeing another officer lying helpless like that. Small wonder Jamie had stayed in the hall.

"And what can I do for you?"

Faith looked up, startled, at the raspy voice coming from the bed. O'Shea was watching her with half-closed eyes and she suspected he had been awake when she had come in. "Hey, Andy," she said quietly.

"Yokas." The other cop's face twitched slightly in a faint grin. "This is indeed a surprise. What brings you down here to me humble hospital room?"

"I came to see how you were doing," she answered, somewhat lamely. "It's all over the news, what happened."

O'Shea closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head slightly. "Of course. Bloody vultures, the press. One of the bastards managed to slip past the boys outside by claimin' to be family. Jamie chased him out with a blacked eye."

Despite herself, she grinned. "Like father, like son?"

"Aye. He's a good lad." O'Shea tried to pull himself up a little bit higher on the bed but failed. Faith noted his effort, sensing something was amiss. Was it just pain that prevented him from moving, or was it something else? "Certainly takes after his mum. Lord knows he's the able one in the family now."

"Andy?" The sense of something being wrong intensified. What was he talking about?

An ironic smile came onto his unshaven face and she saw how tired he looked. Tired and defeated. It was not how she had ever imagined he'd be. Even after taking a beating at the hands of some thugs, he had walked away, refusing her offer of a ride to the hospital. Proud and defiant. This was too alien to her, this pale, haggard face before her. Was the old O'Shea gone for good?

The Irish-born cop managed a dry chuckle at her expression. "Don't you recognise another cripple, Yokas? You ain't the only one to be sufferin'. Although, as I've heard it, you'll come out of it in time." He hacked another laugh. The sound was painful. "Buggers finally got me. Who'd've thought, eh?"

"What are - " she froze suddenly, her voice trailing off in mid-sentence. Was he serious? He couldn't be paralysed too. He was too active, too hardy, to be. It wasn't possible... and yet, something about the way he was lying in the bed told her that it was true. "It can't be."

"It is," O'Shea said. His tone was devoid of emotion. No bitterness, no anger, nothing. Either he had accepted this new reality or he was simply too weary to care.

"But..."

" 'The first bullet went in and out fairly cleanly. The second bullet, however, nicked the spinal column just below the left kidney, creasing the vertebrae and damaging the spinal cord.' " He continued, clearly quoting the doctor. " 'The third bullet crumbled as it passed through, shredding the nerves and muscles of your shoulder and back. There was significant damage to this area.' "

Struck speechless, all she could do was stare. O'Shea's brown eyes regarded her with something akin to sorrow and he swallowed once or twice to moisten his throat. He had not spoken to this length in days. Most of the time, he slept under the influence of the painkillers.

"Yokas."

She met his gaze, almost dreading what he might say next. Although she hadn't known him well, he was still a friend. It hurt to see a friend like this. He again tried to lift himself up and again failed. This time she noticed how his left arm trembled as he attempted to support his weight with the limb. He truly was badly injured.

"Yokas," he said again, massaging his left arm. "What's it like, not bein' able to walk?"

Faith's heart leapt up into her throat and she had to look away. There was pain on his face now. No doubt he had to force himself to ask that question. It was hard to come to grips with that reality. She was still struggling with it from time to time. "It's," she began, then looked down at her own useless legs. How could she explain this, when she knew that eventually would regain the ability to walk and he would not? "It's hard. Everything you used to do, you can't. People have to help you around, get things that're out of reach, lift you in and out of bed, drive you everywhere. It's hard to know that you'll never be the same, that you have to rely on everyone for all the things you used to be able to do yourself. It's hard to know that suddenly you're a burden on your family and you can't do anything about it. It's so hard, knowing that it could have been prevented and yet there you are, confined to a damn wheelchair and completely helpless." The words, at first sticking in her throat, poured from her like a flood. She saw the tears glisten on O'Shea's unshaven cheeks but she couldn't stop herself. "People look at you like you're some kind of freak, when you're at the store, or the bank, or wherever. You can tell they're wondering, 'why is this person like that?' You can tell they're judging you. And there's nothing you can do about it. You want to scream that it was an accident, that you'll get better, that it's only temporary. And at night, you cry because you know it's a lie, that you can't help what happened, that your life has been reduced to depending on others for all the things you used to take for granted. And it sucks. It really does, Andy. Every day I pinch myself, hoping to feel some sort of sensation, praying for a miracle. And every day I'm disappointed."

His eyes were closed but the tears rolled down his cheeks in a steady trickle. Suddenly she felt horrible for unloading her own frustrations on him when he was at such a low point. He had asked her a simple question and she'd let out everything in reply. Faith wheeled herself forward and laid her hand over his. "Andy... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go on like that."

"I did ask," he answered after a long moment. He wiped his eyes with a shaking left hand, hissing in pain as the damaged muscles moved. When he met her eyes again, she was saddened to see the utter resignation in his expression. The fingers of his right hand curled around hers slightly. "I didn't think they'd get me."

"I didn't think so, either."

O'Shea's hand slipped out of hers as he lay back wearily. "You'll get better, though. You got lucky. When you're back out there on the beat, don't forget what it felt like. God knows a cop like you don't need to end up permanently off the Job."

His sad smile was heartbreaking. Faith had to look away. "I won't."

* * *

The courtroom fairly buzzed with voices. Sarah surveyed the room warily, wanting to be anywhere but there. She'd had to fight her way through the gang of reporters outside the courthouse. Luckily Ian and Bosco had been there. They had helped shove past the yammering mob to the relative safety of the courthouse lobby. From there it had been a short journey to the room where the fate of her petition for an order of restraint would be decided.

"Are you ready for this?"

Sarah forced herself to smile. "Let's just get this over with."

Her lawyer nodded and led her to the table they would be sitting at. Bosco and Ian sat behind, in the audience section. Today felt like it was going to be a circus. Sarah shivered. She wasn't looking forward to this at all. A chilly feeling of dread had settled itself in the pit of her stomach after she had gotten back to Ian's from her run and it stayed there stubbornly all morning. Somehow, she suspected that feeling wouldn't go away until the hearing was over. Whichever way it went. Hopefully her way but she wasn't couting on it.

Patrick was there. He had made an effort to clean up his face, but the bruises still stood out. Sarah struggled to keep from grabbing her lawyer's briefcase and rushing the detective to beat him senseless with it. It would scuttle her attempt to get a court order but oh God it'd be so liberating. She imagined him rolling on the floor, clutching his bloody face, as she dropped the briefcase on his head. She wasn't necessarily a violent person but an exception could be made in his case.

"Sarah, are you listeing?"

"Oh yeah, of course."

Her lawyer made a face. "I can't really offer you advice if you're having wild fantasies about beating his skull in. He may be a dirtbag but _we_ need to focus if we want to win."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." Sarah blushed and dropped her gaze to her fingers.

"All right. What should we do with those photographs that your partner took? It's flimsy at best, depending on how we use it. The first set certainly shows Harris outside your apartment - not necessarily a slam-dunk but certainly damning."

She thought about that. Neither Bosco nor Ian had mentioned anything about her partner taking pictures of Patrick outside her apartment. The prints clearly showed the detective's car and the detective himself striding toward the apartment building's door. If used correctly, they would help her case significantly. There was, however, the matter of Bosco jumping Patrick in the hall outside her door. She sighed inwardly. It was a give-and-take situation and the sharp-looking young man who was Patrick's lawyer would no doubt take whatever he could get.

"Run with 'em. What can it hurt? We're already doomed."

"Don't admit defeat yet. Miracles can happen."

"Yeah, and lightning can strike from the ceiling and knock him into last year," Sarah countered. "At this point, I just want to know whether or not I have to change jobs."

Movement at a side door brought a hush to the chatter in the courtroom. A bailiff appeared and called out, "All rise, the Honourable Judge Martha Durham presiding."

"Let the games begin," Sarah muttered.

The meeting with O'Shea had been a sobering experience. All the self-pity she'd been wallowing in seemed utterly selfish and puerile. How could she feel sorry for herself when her paralysis was only temporary? Andy's loss was far greater than her own. He had been the major provider for his family and now he was useless, condemned to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Faith brooded over her actions and all the wasted days that had slipped past while she allowed herself to sit idle. She had rationalised her inactivity by saying it was impossible, that she didn't need outside help, that it was just a bad dream. All manner of wild excuses that seemed so meaningless now, as she endured the uneasy silence that dominated the ride back from the hospital. Fred had maintained his dislike for Andy O'Shea even after the other cop had retired and been recalled, never forgiving him for his part in Faith's stay in the hospital after a house fire. He hadn't understood then and it was a good bet that he wouldn't understand now.

She thought of O'Shea lying in that hospital bed and looked down at her legs. She was going to get use of them back. No more moping around the apartment, waiting for a distant eventuality to come to her. She'd work toward that day when she could get out of that damn wheelchair. There was no doubt it would be hard - the previous sessions with the physical therapist had proven that rather quickly. She had to do it, for herself and her family. Her mind slipped back to that room, to the conversation she'd had with O'Shea. He looked so defeated. Had she looked like that too? The idea made her shudder. It was hard to believe that she might have let herself become so wrapped up in her own pathetic 'woe-is-me' attitude.

"So how was your visit?" Fred's voice was strained and he didn't look at her. She suspected that he couldn't.

"It was eye-opening," she replied carefully. If he couldn't rile her up, they could avoid an arguement. Hopefully.

"Really."

"Yeah. Andy and I had a good talk."

Fred only grunted in reply, shutting off the truck's engine. Faith sighed wearily as he started round the vehicle to get her chair. He would be like this for the rest of the day. Wonderful. She said nothing as she settled into the wheelchair, letting Fred push her up over the sidewalk and into their building. There was too much on her mind to tolerate an arguement.

"Fred."

His face was impassive, as if he expected a rebuke. Faith twisted her fingers together, willing up some courage. It was nearly always hard to say anything to him about her condition these days. "What?"

"I want to make an appointment with that psychologist. For tomorrow."

She might have flipped a switch, his expression changed so swiftly. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm tired of being a mess like this. It's time to get better."

"That's great, honey," Fred brushed a kiss on the top of her head and she felt relieved. Maybe tonight they would finally have some peace. No raised voices, no angry words. No hurt feelings. At last. "I'll find his card when we get upstairs."

Faith found herself thinking about O'Shea's parting words. _What a horrible way to go_, she thought. _I'll beat this and get back out there. And I'll get Bosco back._

* * *

Nobody had reacted fast enough to catch her. The judge had stared long and hard at her before announcing her decision. Voices had erupted in the courtroom after she spoke, an excited babble of reporters and spectators. Her lawyer's hand had patted her forearm, his head lowered. He couldn't even look her in the eye. Patrick and his lawyer were exchanging congratulatory words and handshakes on the other side of the aisle. The shame and humiliation she knew she'd feel flooded her brain.

It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

The courtroom was suddenly silent when her knees buckled. Her lawyer had turned away to shuffle his papers in preparation to place them back in his briefcase. He hadn't spun back around in time. She hit the floor in heap, knocking her chair across the aisle. Bosco had vaulted over the low partition to get to his partner, half a second behind O'Shaughnessy. The firefighter knelt next to Deschaine and quickly checked her vitals before scooping her up like a ragdoll. Bosco couldn't misread the dangerous expression on the other man's face as he glared death at Harris, who had stupidly come near to gawk.

"Get your slimy ass outta here," Bosco growled, shoving the detective out of the way to let O'Shaughnessy through. He ignored Harris' lawyer's sputtering and pushed through the crowd of astonished onlookers, clearing a path for O'Shaughnessy. What a mess this was now! He shouldn't have been surprised that they had lost the hearing. It had been largely his fault for roughing Harris up a bit at Deschaine's apartment.

"Where's your truck?" Bosco demanded as the curious trio reached the outside sidewalk. "We can't take my car, it's not big enough."

"That way, around the corner."

Bosco led the way, carelessly clearing the way through the yammering mob of reporters. The bastards loved to capitalise on another person's weakness. "Move it or lose it," he snarled at a pushy cameraman. In response, the man took another picture. Bosco grabbed the camera from the man's hands and flung it over his shoulder, not looking to see where it landed and not caring.

They reached O'Shaughnessy's Ford in short order and Bosco slid into the driver's seat while the firefighter laid Deschaine across the back seat. "My place, now."

"Got it," Bosco said.

This whole situation was a mess. Failing to get the restraining order simply magnified that fact. What could they do now? Bosco pounded the steering wheel in frustration. He was out of ideas, completely at a loss as to what to do next. It felt like their options had been exhausted. Deschaine had tried so hard to keep from letting this jag-off get to her and he admired her for that. But, ultimately, that bastard had won. Everything they'd done had been for naught.

That bastard. It all came back to that no-good excuse for a cop. No doubt he was savouring this victory and plotting his next move. What Bosco wouldn't give to throttle the son-of-a-bitch. At this point, he wouldn't need any provocation.

"What next?" The words felt hopeless. A reflection of the speaker.

O'Shaughnessy shook his head, his face expressionless. "I don't know. That R.O. was our best shot. It's up to Sarah what happens next."

Naturally. Bosco checked the rearview mirror again and was satisfied that they weren't being tailed. Not that it would make much difference if Harris already knew where O'Shaughnessy lived. Odds were he did. They were and truly screwed.

"I don't want the red hat..." Deschaine's voice sounded disjointed and drowsy. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw her eyelids flutter once or twice before her eyes opened. She looked like hell. Fainting in the courtroom hadn't done a thing to improve her appearance. His partner blinked slowly and gingerly touched the back of her head. "We lost, didn't we?"

O'Shaughnessy nodded grimly. His wordless reply was enough. Deschaine burst into tears and buried her face into the dark blue upholstered seat. Bosco felt like dirt, knowing he had helped in their defeat in a big way. What could he do, what could O'Shaughnessy do, to keep Harris away now?

"I'm sorry," O'Shaughnessy murmured, equally as helpless as Bosco.

"I need to get out of Boston. He'll get right back to his disgusting game. I need to get out of here." Deschaine sounded broken. Bosco parked the Ford down the street from O'Shaughnessy's apartment and twisted around to look at his partner.

"Where are you going to go?"

She drew in a breath and wiped her eyes. "He doesn't know where my brother lives. It's my only choice, isn't it?" A slightly ironic grin served to deepen the shadows on her face. "I'm running to the very city that you ran away from."

The comment stung but he knew he deserved it. "Are you going to tell Coulter?"

"He already knows. At least..." she rested her head against the window, sighing. "At least he knew it was a possibility, if things didn't turn out right."

Bosco nodded, feeling numb. "Yeah," he said softly. There was nothing more he could say. He had set his partner up for failure, again. When would he learn?

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight. I'm going to call Lieu from the road. I need to get away from here for awhile."

Silence took over the Ford as each of them entertained their own thoughts. Bosco felt the guilt dripping coldly into his gut. There was nothing more he could think of to do for his partner, other than to nod silently. What a tangled web we weave, he thought suddenly and wondered where he had heard that from. It was certainly fitting.

"Let's get your stuff packed up." O'Shaughnessy said.

Things were changing, Bosco thought. Whether or not they were changing for the better remained to be seen. But it seemed unlikely. With a sigh, he turned the Ford off. All he could do was do his best to make sure that Harris kept a low profile. The longer he was unaware of Deschaine's absence, the better.

"Let's go," he said.


	21. Finding Sanctuary, Seeking Vengeance

I know it's been awhile since I updated, I'm really sorry! Finding enough canon muse is hard when there aren't any re-runs on TV. Here's a short chapter - and really not a very good one at that! - while I try to find good torrents, so I can work on finishing the tale.

* * *

How could she manage to get lost so soon after entering the city? She had the directions clearly written out, helpfully provided to her by Bosco. She even had a map of the city with the route marked out on it with a highlighter, and she'd still gotten turned around somewhere. Damn this place. It was too big, filled with entirely too many people. How could Bosco _like_ New York?

A short-tempered taxi driver laid on his horn when she was a second too slow stepping on the gas when the traffic light changed. _Bastard._ Didn't people recognise an out-of-towner when they saw one? It wasn't like the Massachussetts tags on her truck were any indication of that. Sarah scowled and looked around for an open space on the curb, hoping to find somebody who could point her in the right direction. This really was ridiculous, and more than a little embarrassing. Well, maybe there was hope yet. An NYPD cruiser was parked outside what looked like a coffehouse. If anybody could tell her where this precinct house was, they could. Her brother had better be happy to see her.

Finding a place to park was a small nightmare. There were cars crammed along the curb for blocks. These people were nuts. Sarah rolled her eyes and circled the block, somehow managing to spot an opening vacated by a beat-up Lincoln. _Thank God._ She was quick to pull into the spot before anybody else could get the same idea. Maybe it would be better to have gone directly to his apartment, rather than his precinct house. She didn't want to get in the way if he was busy. The Boston cop looked around as she hurried across the narrow side-street. There was no telling what sort of nut-cases lurked in the shadows here.

The two New York cops were sitting around a table near the front of the coffeehouse, and both looked over with mild curiosity when she entered. One, a female, lifted an eyebrow slightly. Sarah pulled her Red Sox beanie off as she approached the table, hoping she was making the best choice by asking for directions.

"Hi, um... I'm trying to find the Fifty-fifth Precinct?"

The female cop looked at her curiously and for a moment, Sarah was afraid she'd said something wrong. "You're _in_ the Fifty-fifth Precinct, ma'am."

Pure relief flooded through her and thoroughly erased her apprehension. She toyed with the beanie in her hands as she sought to keep from babbling. "I'm looking for my brother. He doesn't know I'm in the city. At least not yet. I was hoping to surprise him by meeting him at the station house, could you tell me how to get there?"

"I'm assuming you're Matt Deschaine's sister?" The female cop asked, and Sarah nodded in reply. "We could save you the trouble of finding the house. He's on his way here, as it happens."

"Wow." God, talk about catching a break! Sarah made herelf sit down in a nearby booth, taking care to keep her back to the door. Twisting around the booth, she said, "I can't wait to see his face. It'll be nice to get him back for all the times he's surprised me when I've been working!"

A waitress came over and the Boston cop ordered a coffee. Hopefully Matt wouldn't still be sour about the last time she'd seen him. He better not be. This visit wasn't for a lark or idle pleasantries. She needed his help and this time she was going to ask for it properly. He would understand best, she thought. He knew what Patrick had done before.

The door swished open and she knew without looking that her brother was there. His voice reached out to greet the other two cops, echoed by the unfamiliar voice of his partner. Boots scuffed across the tile floor as the new arrivals joined their comrades at the table. The four New York cops were conversing easily enough, but she sensed a bit of tension in Matt's voice. What was on his mind? Maybe Ian had phoned him with news about the outcome of the hearing. She hoped he hadn't. That was something for her to reveal herself. Sarah drew in a breath and prepared herself for his reaction when she turned around.

Matt's brown eyes flicked to meet hers when he felt the weight of her stare on him, then away again, probably out of habit. Then he stiffened in his chair and jerked his gaze back toward her. It was almost the sort of reaction she had expected. "_Sarah?_"

"Hey Matt." How best to break the news to him? Away from his friends, certainly. "Can I talk to you, outside?"

"Yeah." His reply was quick and firm, his face reflecting instant understanding. He was on his feet at once and following her outside to the chilly, breeze-swept sidewalk. Something in his expression hinted at wariness, as if he had somehow guessed the reason for her presence already. "What did he do?" Her brother asked immediately, as soon as the coffeehouse door closed behind them.

"The hearing was today."

It was all she needed to say. Or, more accurately, all she trusted herself to say. It was enough. Matt's face softened and he drew his sister into a hug. "Damn."

"Yeah." She pressed her cheek against the cold fabric of his jacket, exhaling wearily. After a moment she pulled away, tugging her beanie lower over her ears. "I took some time off. Coulter had already approved it a week ago. It's just... too much."

"I bet. Who knows you're here?"

"Bosco and Ian. They've been wonderful." She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and hunched her shoulders slightly against the nip of the evening wind. It seemed colder in New York than it had in Boston. Maybe the cold of the unknown, or the fear she couldn't quite shake? "Listen, I can spill the entire story to you later, but I need a place to crash. With eveything going on, it's been... I'm beyond exhausted. I don't even know how I managed to make it all the way down here without falling asleep."

Matt stuck a hand into his pocket and fished out a set of keys. "My place is up on 115th, big brick place. Can't miss it. Second floor, first on the left. Make yourself at home. I get off around eleven."

She nodded, slipping the keys into her jacket pocket. He was taking her unexpected arrival remarkably well. Better than she had thought. That sparked a glimmer of hope that her brief stay in New York would not feel like a waste of time. "Thanks Mattie. I'll try to be up when you get home."

"You better be asleep when I get home, or there'll be hell to pay."

"You sound like Dad," she told him, reaching out to muss his hair. "Have a good rest of shift then." The Boston cop hurried back to where she had parked without waiting for an answer, unwilling to let her brother see the tears glistening on her cheeks. What had she done to deserve such protection? Matt, Ian, Bosco, and Coulter were really going to bat for her, and she loved them all for it in different ways, but it made her wonder what she had ever done to be considered worthy of any of them. Best to not dwell on it. She had to find Matt's apartment and take up temporary residence on his couch. Sleep, she decided as she pulled back into the ever-present stream of traffic, was going to take precedence for once.

* * *

A subdued murmur of voices followed him as he left the roll-call room. Several cops standing in the lobby glanced quickly up at him before just as quickly looking aware, as though guilty of some untoward thought. Damn the lot of them, he thought fiercely. What had they done to help his partner when she had been so clearly in distress? Bosco scowled at the few who dared meet and hold his gaze, silently challenging them to speak. He'd love to hear what some of them had to say for themselves, now that Deschaine's plight was splashed all over the evening news.

"Boscorelli, over here."

A somewhat familiar voice, that Bosco recognised after a moment as belonging to Bill Tessier. One of Deschaine's friends and one of the few who had openly expressed concern about her. All in all not a bad guy, Bosco thought as he crossed the lobby floor. "Lieu says I'm gonna be riding with you until Deschaine gets back."

Tessier nodded. "Yep. I felt like crap for not doing anything when she was down and out. Pretty sorry on my part. I owe her for it, you know?" The other cop shrugged guiltily. "I let her down."

"A lot of people let her down," Bosco said.

"Yeah."

The two were silent as they moved outside to the parking lot. Bosco wasn't sure what to say. Tessier had said a good bit in a few words and he wondered if he might have found a potential companion with whom he could begin seeking a quiet sort of vengeance from Harris.

At length, Tessier said, "Figure we might do a bit of good round here before she does. God knows she deserves it. You up for it?"

I like this guy. "Yeah."

"So. What d'you figure we oughta do first?" Tessier enquired. "I hear that Harris managed to escape getting put on suspension. Maybe we might pay him a little visit and make him wish he had been?"

Bosco couldn't resist a smile. This guy was definitely thinking along the same lines as he was. "I think he's long overdue for a good talk. He was spoken to a couple times before but I don't think he got the message."

"Good. I was figuring on starting off with his behaviour lately would be a good way to open up negotiations."

"I agree." Bosco settled into the passenger's seat and wondered how he would manage to get through the next week or so. Even with a partner as like-minded as Tessier, he didn't feel entirely whole without Deschaine riding with him. How quickly he had become used to her being there. _We'll get him for you, Deschaine._ Bosco vowed as Tessier guided the cruiser toward Harris' apartment. That slimeball detective was going to regret ever laying eyes on his partner. Bosco was going to make damn sure of that.


End file.
